Today is my birthday. I’m 27. Again. Do you have an eternal age that you seem to be stuck at? In my head I’m 27 and am totally ok with that….until my children remind me in their oh-so-subtle manner that I’m nearer double that (and look it too).
The fact is, no one is getting any younger but certain people are not helping my gradual (not really) acceptance of that truth, least of all the celebrities who seem to look younger every time they appear on my TV screen – I’m looking at you Barbara Windsor and Carol Vonderman.
“She’s older than you mummy, but looks SO much younger – no lines or anything!”. Yeah, thanks for that.
I keep coming across wonderfully liberating magazine articles about people ‘finding themselves’ at 40, finally being comfortable with their bodies and annihilating the myth that women over 40 are not good at trying anything new (did you see The Apprentice last week? Tsk).
Me? I just seem unable to do it. Try as I might, my head simply cannot embrace the ageing process that my body seems hell-bent on forging ahead with. Whilst I am 100% against any form of plastic surgery or chemical intervention, I just cannot get used to the fact that I’m no longer wolf-whistle material, that I’m old enough to be the mother of half the people in my office and that I cannot legitimately try anything on in Top Shop (formerly my ‘go to’ for jeans) any more, let alone make a purchase.
I guess you could say that I’m grieving for my younger self and no amount of fabulous articles about 40 being the new 30, is changing that. To follow are just a few of the things I’m pining after….
- Being able to wave enthusiastically, without one half of my arm being on a 2-second delay.
- Not needing to unfold my face/fill in the cracks of a morning.
- Being able to spontaneously go to the swimming pool without needing at least a 30-minute warning.
- The £200 per month that I spend on de-fuzzing, covering greys and bi-monthly back maintenance.
- Not having to take a pair of tweezers wherever I go – how do those nasty black hairs sprout up so quickly?
- The “no way, you cannot possibly be that old” comments that my younger self used to bat off on a weekly basis.
- Being able to spring out of bed without the need to do various yoga-style stretches en route to the bathroom.
- Not having to vet every photograph of me and actually keeping more than I delete.
- Going to the gym in a normal bra. No scaffolding required (TMI?)
- Not having to think twice before bouncing on a trampoline (definitely TMI).
So what’s a girl* to do? I think I have two choices: 1) Continue living in my little 27-year-old fantasy land whilst perfecting my new birth date of 20/10/88; or 2) start knocking around with people at least a decade older than me.
What do you think? I’m open to ideas. In the meantime….
Happy 27th Birthday to me.
* For the record – I am still a ‘girl’.