OK – so this blog is a bit garbled, but i hope you get the general idea…..
The Next Stage.
Iâve just driven home, and passed a man in a velvet jacket in his – I donât know – early 30âs – ish, pushing one of these new fangled buggyâs with a little baby – who was maybe six to eight months old. And it strikes me that I wanted to get something down on paper that conveys this feeling – this âSophie Dahlâ type expression of melancholy. That minute where you know, especially in this day and age that you’re not old per say – I mean, Iâm only in my thirties, Iâm still young (right?) – but there is a moment when you see a man – a Dad or a Mum – singularly or both together with a young baby, where you realize that isnât you anymore, that stage of your life is over and you just have no – no…..what?⌠it draws a blank thought.
You know that the next time you hold a baby in your arms that youâll care about in quite that way, will be when your own children have children.
I remember reading an article a few years ago along the lines of; gone are the days when you want to be the next David Beckham – now you hope that for your children, (not that I want for my son to be the next David Beckham, but you understand the sentimentality behind it), there is a point in your life when your hopes and dreams, almost arenât for you anymore, you wish your hopes and dreams for your children. (Not like some pageant mum, shoot me now.) But you wish and yearn for them to have that newness of discovery, those feelings that you used to yearn for yourself, and it’s somehow more apparent when you see young Dadâs – it’s not quite the same when you see Mumâs, because weâre Mums, we know that they are worrying about milk and nap time’s and routine. But when a Dad is out on his own pushing the buggy – then you realize that those discoveries, those enormous big firsts in your life; (and I know this may sound a bit 1950âs), but when you get engaged and when you plan a wedding, when you get married, and you become a Mrs. and you introduce your âhusbandâ, and weâre going to have a babyâŚ.those wonderful firsts.
And there is that feeling that your life is just starting out, and that you have become a grown-up in your own right, your starting a âlifeâ with a young family – when everything is new and fresh and surprising and frightening, and then there suddenly comes a time – or a stage âŚ.
When even though your children are still young, theyâre just not babies anymore, theyâre not toddlers, they are growing up, trying to find their stride in life – working on theyâre personalities, becoming their own person.
And then you see these little babies in buggies and you feel a sense of loss, for the children that you wont have –Â even though Iâm lucky enough to have three lovely children of my own and I donât want to have anymore, but I also suddenly realize – like a punch to the heart – that this stage of my life is over.
Itâs gone.
I was once the new Mum, the young Mum. But not anymore, now Iâm becoming âMotherâ *said with my best teenage infliction* (and when dealing with teenagers I definitely mean infliction, not inflection) Iâm working towards becoming the embarrassing parent – you know the type; “Mum! Donât dance like that” or “Mum! Why would say that?! Mum pick me up from the car park donât come up to the school.”
Suddenly Iâm fast approaching becoming that Mum, Iâm not âŚready? To become my parents. I find the thought quite distressing, and I wonder, is this when the crazy stages start setting in – when I decide to cut my hair in some obscenely young style, wear clothes that are inappropriate to me, like those – oh! Do you remember those tops back in the nineties, those bright sweaters with printed pussycats and printed dogs on and cute slogans underneath, I always remember my Auntie used to wear one of those; and she was about forty, and I used to think, âmy god I wouldnât even wear one of those (Iâd have been 15 ish) what are you doing in one ?â And now I donât know, now I see these cute little sparkly flowery hairclips in shops and I think âoh I like thatâ âŚDO I?? I mean really, DO I? Or am I scratching about for my youth. Should I just grow old in a rush – go to Marks and Spencers by a couple of white blouses, a pair of sensible brown trousers and brown flats, get my hair cut short – some sensible straight brown helmet of hair – square specs that I can frown over, a shawl, how far does this go ?? A nice little beige pashmina – how desperate.
But, there it is – thatâs what it is, the next stage is fast approaching âŚ
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