It was my birthday last week. I am rather a little late in writing about it, but I had a lovely time.
I wasn’t really looking forward to my birthday. I felt a bit ‘meh’ about it to be honest. I hadn’t even booked the day off work.
31. I like an odd number, so I’m ok with that, but I guess a part of me also thinks ‘what the hell? Really?’ It seems so…old. So grown up.
I had a flashback to my mum, and when I was younger. When my mum was 31, I was 10. I can’t even imagine myself with a ten year old right now, let alone a 10 year old and an 8 year old. My mum always looked so grown up, so….adult. I can’t believe I am now the same age she was when I was 10. I mean, I don’t feel like I know a bloody thing about anything.
It didn’t help that my partner helpfully told me that I was already through a third of my life. Nothing like that to cheer you up, is there?
On the day, I got up, heavy hearted, and came downstairs to balloons and a birthday banner, which my sister had put up for me. And a smiling face of a little girl screaming
And you know what? All of a sudden it was the best day ever.