So, I am 48 hours into my 1,612th week of life. 372 months in wanker toddler terms.
Strangely though, to me, both of these sound less harsh than 31 does.
I had a self diagnosed anxiety attack 72 hours ago which I’ve no doubt directly correlates with entering my 1,612th week.
And by anxiety attack I mean I was short of breath. Which I’ve no doubt directly correlates with the 10 cigarettes I smoked on Friday night when I was 5 wines deep.
I have spoken to friends about the 31 fear. Friends that successfully survived it.
Some totally got it. They related.
Others looked at me like I’m a crazy fuckwit. Lucky for me though, I’m immune to that face.
3 kids, remember?!
I’ve been told to embrace it. I waited until those assholes turned around, stuck my finger up & told them to embrace that.
Under my breath of course! Because, 31!
Turning 30 was very cleansing for me. It also turned me into a tosser that uses words like “cleansing”. Yuk.
I felt like the slate was clean. I’d shed my skin. Which unfortunately revealed more skin. Overhang. And a stretch mark or 82.
Again, 3 kids, remember?!
Turning 31 feels like something I didn’t sign up for. If 30 was my new shoes, 31 is the fucking blister the bastards gave me!
I can’t wait to see the joy that 32 brings.
One year ago, I was fist pumping to turn 1,562 weeks old. 30. I even brought myself a fucking badge. Loser. But I was so excited.
It was the best birthday of my life.
I, for the first time ever, planned a no expenses-sparred party. All. For. Me.
Not my darling (ungrateful) children.
No personalised party bags.
No carrot sticks with a dip that fits ALL 5 of the food groups.
No nods from the parenting police who may or may not reward you with a Nobel Peace Party-Parenting-Prize. That depends on the dip, of course. & the quantity of food colouring consumed.
I went all out. It was the best night of my life.
Even if the Fathership did growl at me because I flashed my very unflashable, half dead titties in the car park at the end of the night.
He wasn’t growling when they were in his face at 2am.
In the midst of my mid-mid life crisis recently, I’ve reflected on the year that was.
As well as gaining my lady balls & having an honest tongue with a mind of its own, I learnt some valuable lessons..
1. My children give absolutely no fucks that it’s my birthday once a year. Not one gram of pure fuck. They are, however, very interested in when their next birthday is. And what they can eat. Because, starvation.
2. I should never underestimate their selfishness.They are scholars in self absorption. If all else fails in life they can just shove their heads back up their asses & thrive.
3. It’s ok to say no. It’s actually more than ok. Especially when you don’t fumble around like a fuckwit making excuses for your answer.
No one will perish.
The world will not combust.
Lives will continue to be lived.
The sun will still rise.
When you try & please everyone, the only person you don’t please is yourself.
4. It is not ok to say no to a threenager though. You will fear for your life & very rightfully so.
People will perish.
The world may combust.
Lives will be lost.
The sun will be to scared to rise.
When you try to please a threenager, make sure you do it right. Or fucking run.
5. Not everyone will like you. And not everyone is meant to. This works both ways. & unfortunately this will include your children at times.
Just remember, not everyone matters.
Again, children included. Ruthless fuckers.
6. My pelvic floor appears to of retired at the ripe age of 30. Sneezing without squeezing my legs together as tight as possible will result in pissing myself.
Don’t even try it at the Supermarket.
7. Trust your instincts. The bitch knows all.
8. Money does buy happiness. The best kind. It’s called childcare.
9. Money will come and go. But mostly go. Quickly. Never to be seen again. M.I.A. Police do not consider this a missing person. Trust me.
If you are warm, safe, fed & regularly drunk.. Your chances of survival will be fantastic!
This is what matters.
10. Mistakes are like fuckwits. You will come face to face with way more than you’d like. You do not have to spend time in their presence. They do not define you. How you deal with them does though. Brush them aside & move the fuck on.
They will teach you.
11. 10 year old boys have no boner shame. Well mine doesn’t anyway. His autism is currently the least of my problems. Autism doesn’t get boners.
12. McDonalds Drive Thru is not an appropriate place to regurgitate the chocolate milk you scoffed because you had the dry horrors after 17 litres of alcohol the night before. Their staff will confirm this. They’ll even throw in a free death stare.
But will probably forget your sauce.
13. Hangovers will fuck you sideways. Backwards. Orally. Anally. And you’ll spend quality time with the toilet.
14. Gastro can affect you at both ends. At exactly the same time. Who knew! Toughest decision I’ve made all year is which end will make the least mess.
15. The kids will stay away from you when you’re covered in your own shit & vomit. And will continue to have their heads lodged in their backsides. And don’t forget, they’re still hungry!
16. Active wear are the comfiest clothes to live an inactive life in.
17. Wine helps everything. Especially my participation in sexual intercourse. The Fathership also learnt this. He enjoyed this one.
18. It can only hurt me if I let it. Unless it’s a hangover. This is non negotiable.
This was the first birthday I celebrated without the Fathership since my 18th. That felt weird. Especially because I had to make my own fucking breakfast. But a call from my very thoughtful best friend to tell me she’d organised a babysitter for my kids & we were going to smuggle alcohol into the movies to watch Ab Fab eased the pain.
How lucky am I!
My 30th year was my best to date.
I made friends with myself.
And have some amazing woman in my life.
I hope it just keeps getting better!