Age Gracefully

The spectacular smell of shitty dog poo bags, cheesy socks and teenage sweat. That people is the best way to describe my daily life.

I always thought I would travel the world and while there may still be time, It feels like my youth is slipping away. Sure, I'm 32 so a baby to the older generation. Yet, the amount of times my teenage daughter calls me 'old' in a day, is nothing short of a miracle. Yes,

I have grey hairs and nipples that point in the wrong direction but I am prematurely seasoned...like a hot fried steak.

Any mother and wife out there will tell you the same thing, it's rewarding, I love being a mum, it is the best decision I ever made. I love my husband, that is why I married him. Yes, all of these things are true but they are also a lie.

I didn't marry my husband because I love him, I am with him because I love him. I stayed with him because I love him. I married him because...well, because why not? 14 years together seemed like a now or never moment to marry. So, at the young age of 30, we tied the knot.

Now my daughter is wonderful, heartful, unique, funny and an absolute disaster all in one. She is kind yet cruel. Tidy yet messy. Funny yet sarcastic. Loving yet hateful and a major pain in my arse.

One thing mothers can agree on, is teenagers are awful, just absolutely filthy, sweaty, lazy, self-entitled, mouth-breathing money takers.

As a parent, have you ever just looked at the sour face of your kid and wanted to set it straight? No? Me neither...

Never did I believe you could love someone so unconditionally and dislike them so much at the same time, until I became a mum. Now don't get me wrong, I love my daughter and most days I like her too. But come on,

how many fucking outfits do you need to wear in a day?

I feel like her clothes are Private Ryan and my mission is to get them from A to B without getting put down along the way. Of course, it isn't gunfire and bombs I am avoiding, although her room sometimes does remind me of a minefield, dodging plates, cups and knickers on the floor. And of course, if you have seen that spectacular film, you will know the plan was successful (for the most part). Sure people got injured along the way, some even died a horrible death, but Private Ryan got home safe. That is my daughter's clothes. Along the way I pick up all sorts on my feet, my nose gets violated from the stench of her bin room and I have cut myself many times on the endless amounts of small 'things' on her floor. Yep, definitely Private Ryan-related...almost to a tee.

I shouldn't complain though right? Some people can't have kids, they are a miracle and a gift from Science (not religious). So who am I to complain? I'll tell you who I am. I am a 32 year old, aging, grey, overweight, saggy nippled, lumpy woman, that has hit a T-road and is trying to decide if I go left to Botox or right to let it all hang out.

I think for now I'll stay put, on my jealous side road, trying to decide if I want to join my teenagers mindset and look younger, or age gracefully like the Helen Mirrens of Hollywood.

On second thoughts, I'll age gracefully.

Thank you for taking the time to read a bit about me. Please remember, while I am brutally honest, everything is written in good humour and in no way encourages any form of hate. Stay kind, stay honest and stay safe,