I've typed it before and no doubt I'll type it again but a fair bit of life is biting on the bitter sweet.
Because it's so short and fleeting, we ought to be clinging to the great bits and even the alright bits but we're all a bit metric and measurement oriented nowadays and that feeling you get when you don't measure up and tick boxes and meet criteria is weird.
Because on the one hand, your rational mind knows that you can only really measure against your own values anyhow.
But on the other hand, you review and realise that you don't have most of things that people are finding important.
This makes you mildly uncomfortable at times but only because it removes you from regular classification and therefore makes you harder for others to understand.
And you can't quite shake the sensation that 'at your age' running off with the [circus/insert alt lifestyle choice here] will look a lot like a nervous breakdown in progress, with funding.
And also sad because inevitably you'll have to come back. And live on people's floor til you start main streaming again.
But anyway the purpose of the post was to acknowledge formally those nano seconds when you think 'wish i had a cute baby to snuggle'. 'wish someone would twitch the duvet back over me in the night, even if I was too hot' and some of the gooey stuff. Like my mate finding out years into his relationship that naming days are a big deal in Scandic countries and finally making a huge fuss. Cute. Sweet. Attention to detail. Never demanded either, which must make it all the sweeter.
Those moments don't crowd out the absolute joy of going to the library, getting 4 books out and reading them into the middle of the night while listening to an odd combo of Frank Turner, David Ryan Adams, 30 Seconds to Mars, Wicked and Miley Cyrus, whilst eating crackers and wearing only moisturising foot socks because it's unearthly hot at present but you can't have your window open all night because you a) life on the bus lane (NOISY) and b) currently have road works at the cross roads just down the road and people in traffic around here have such diabolical music taste that just hearing 15 second snatches of it drift in thru the shutters is enough to increase your basal temperature by 50 degrees. Or Kelvins or something.
I am a selfish shellfish. I like walking to the beat of my own drum. I like pleasing myself about stuff and wearing dodgy old black shorts round the house with a customised 'you f#cking love it' stripey t shirt with no bra and waiting til the Gilmore Girls is on before there's any great action.
But today, I'd quite have liked a cute boy to pop to the corner shop and pick me up some milk so I could have a latte while watching. Rather than having a herb tea because i was too much of a bum to go yesterday.
I realised, in a blinding flash the other day, that the glorious mummies that I know would on occasion like to swap and be the ones who are lounging and then heading out with iced coffee to the Grace Kelly Style Icon exhibition at the V & A this afternoon, meeting old friends and going for cocktails.
And maybe that's the splendour of the whole thing - a Mum is never just a mum, she's also someone's bessie mate and confidant and the person who makes someone else feel woefully inadequate in some other area. Even the clueless 35 year old singleton is getting someone's vote.
So be at peace, for once, folks, deep in your souls. You are someone's joy and no doubt occasionally someone's sorrow.
And as long as that's because of your choices, it's all good