Birthdays

I've been thinking again

No, don't panic [well not yet at least] I promise you can read this entry without feeling the need to reach for the bread knife to end your misery.

I've been thinking about this birthday of mine.

Birthday? I hear you mutter...she hasn't said anything about a birthday.

Well, ok, i haven't.

And to be honest I'm not sure why, though by the time I get to the end of this rather rambling entry, I might have worked out why, and even managed to make it sound as if I'm not completely bonkers as I do.



I was a sweet little girl wasn't I?

What do you mean no!

Look at me.
Cute as a button.

So what does it matter that I had to have my hair in rags every night to get those curls.....Shirley Temple was a godess then, and if I could look like her [ if only in the mind of my Nana ] then who was I to complain.

I even used to sing and dance on stage.
At least I did until that unfortunate incident when I totally dried up in the middle of 'A mouse ?, where?, there on the stair...'
And I've hated that song ever since.

So here I am.
Another year older.


45 has vanished into the never-yon and 46
is here to stay.

Its never seemed particularly momentous in the past.

I've let my 13th, 16th,18th and 21sts happen as they would.


I've noticed no difference at 30 or 40, or even at 45.


I've been married, divorced, had 2 gorgeous children, met a myriad of unsuitable blokes, found out about most of them far too late to avoid doing serious damage to the state of my heart, and made a few friends who have stayed the course.

I've changed my name twice.
I've lost the most important person in my life, and re-discovered a relationship with my mother, I've forgiven my Father and accepted that i can love and admire him while still being as angry as hell with him.

I've worn some completely unsuitable clothes...and i don't mean edgy or avant-garde, i mean seriously frumpy.

when i felt that I ought to grow up and be like my ex-mother-in-law.

When i let my own sense of style get obliterated by 'mum' style.


And I've regained my sense of self.

I've lost more weight than i thought would be possible, got fit and toned and , even if i say it myself, bloody gorgeous [ though at the time i couldn't see it]

And I then got pregnant again and never managed to get it back.

But still, there was something left over, some germ of self confidence that never went away as my muscle turned to fat.

And I never went back.

The hair went platinum blonde.

The boobs stayed on show.

And then , as i became more sure of myself, the hair turned red, the belly and then the back got inked, and I'm where I am today.

But its funny.
Yesterday I went out all loud hair, back on view in a low-cut halter top, swirly skirt, black and gold platforms tied at the ankle with ribbon bows, stockings, suspenders, all very 50's glamour, even down to my Marlene Deitrich red pout.

We didn't go anywhere special, just a Chinese Restaurant that we like, but for once i thought i'd really go for it.

And i felt gorgeous.

I didn't care that I wasn't size 10 or 5 inches taller.
I was happy to be me.
Size 16, squashy, short glorious me.

But this morning, i have been left feeling different.

Somehow 46 [it even sounds different to say...forty six..so, well, old ] has touched places that I didn't think I had.

and I dont think i like it.