Last week I turned 35. Yep it was my birthday. Whilst I had been planning to spend it drinking cocktails in the Rainbow Room and partying till the early hours in Greenwich Village, I found myself at home instead, struggling to walk without a limp reminiscent of Don Brennan from Coronation Street. Not quite what I had in mind. I have never been someone who is actually that bothered by their age. That was until last week.
For me a birthday was just a good reason for a celebration, a few pressies and, in more recent years, the odd alcoholic beverage. Birthdays were so exciting when I was growing up. Apart from the presents it would mean a party, a hedgehog birthday cake (with matchmakers to create the spikes made by my Mum), a ridiculous amount of e numbers, cheese and pineapple on sticks and kids going wild around the house after consuming copious amounts of Tizer and other weird and wonderful concoctions, like Vampires Blood, from the Soda Stream.
As I got older this process became a tad more select and we were allowed to pick a few friends for sleepover, swimming at The Oasis in Swindon. It was a huge pool in a dome and had slides AND a wave machine. It was revolutionary. Well a the time it was. Bet its weenie now. Along with the swimming and a trip to the flicks we were also allowed a McDonalds. When we were younger Maccy D’s was a real treat, not like today. Kind of in the same way we would have KFC once a year, Christmas Eve, a bargain bucket. Essentially because my Mum couldn’t be arsed cooking for over excited kids the day before she would spend the entire day in the kitchen perfecting the Xmas turkey. And lets face it we loved it. So on birthdays we were allowed to eat Cheeseburgers, chips and drink milkshakes.
On my 17th birthday I had my first driving lesson. I was desperate to learn so my parents gave lessons for my birthday (they may have regretted this decision after it took my 3 times to pass the damn test). I do remember my Mum having a serious conversation with me about learning to drive and my age. I clearly remember her saying now you are able to drive and control a vehicle which can kill someone. At the time I remember thinking – CONTROL? I don t think I can control it…. (maybe she had a point)
So for me I always quite look forward to my birthdays. The same can’t really be said for all of my friends.
I can remember one of my very good friends being devastated when she turned 18 because that meant she was an adult and as an adult she could go to prison if she broke the law. I want to state now that this friend is the least likely person I know to break the law, either then or now. Probably the most risqué thing she has ever done is cake herself in eyeliner and lippy and have a diamond white in Washington Heights (nightclub in Reading) a few weeks before entered adulthood. Lets face it, we all did that. Regardless of this, for her it was a fear. For me, not so much, turning 18 just meant I could legally drink alcohol, it was just about time to fly the nest and head up north and perhaps most crucially it was the end of school forever. I was a little gutted about the school part I have to say but I was soon distracted by student life in the bright lights of Manchester and the next phase of my life.
My 21st birthday passed in a bit of a flash. I was studying for my finals at Uni and had just met my ex, who I would end up staying with for 7 years. I was in a bit of a love haze and quite frankly my birthday then was just another excuse for a nice, semi posh night out on the town with the new man. I should state now that this was no a frequent occurrence when we were students. Our first date was on a Friday night at Piccadilly 21’s in Manchester. Anyone who has lived in Manchester, or been to 21’s will know this would not be classified as a ‘nice night out’ I think there may have been a wet t-shirt competition that night. No before you ask, I did not enter. Still love is blind and all that jazz.
When I turned 30 I was one of the few in my group of friends who actually enjoyed the celebrations and moving into a new decade. The end of my 20’s had been a bit of a bumpy ride for me and I had just made the move back down south. I was in a fairly new job, again a new relationship and had just moved in to my new house. Turning 30 was a good time for me. Anyone reading this who is still in their 20’s and who is dreading turning 30 really should not. In my experience your 30’s are way better than your 20’s. The main reason is, in your 20’s you tend to sweat the small stuff a whole lot more. In your 30’s I think you get a bit more perspective. It might be different based on who you are and what happens to you but in general, with my friends this is the case.
The other secret here is that I believe you stick with a mental age. I am now 35 but in my head I am in my late 20’s. I think therefore I generally act like someone who is in their late 20’s (apart from my when I am at work, obviously..). This can mean I am occasionally prone to buying the music and clothing of a twenty something. Don’t worry folks. I have good friends; they tell me when I look like an utter pleb… (clothes can thankfully be returned).
So why when I hit 35 did I suddenly feel old? Well to be frank, my bestie and me always do this whole ohhhhh now your xx that’s half of xx. I can remember us having that conversation when we were 15 and half of 30. I don’t remember being freaked out by that however when we met for lunch on my bday this year as discussed being half of 70 it felt a bit different. Does this mean I am now middle aged? One good thing about having a best friend who is 6 months older than you is that they experience all this first (and they will ALWAYS be that little bit older of course). My bestie is married with child so slightly different situation to me but to us we are still those same teenagers who thought we were cool tucking our jeans into our socks (perish the thought). It is very true that your friends keep you young. So after spending the large part of the day with my bestie I felt a bit better about my new number.
On my way home I headed over to my Mum’s. I am lucky enough not to live far from my parents or my bro. I appreciate this all the more because I spent 10 years not being able to pop in for a cuppa. So I headed to Mum’s for a piece of bday cake and to collect my pressies. My Mum had been complaining at the weekend that I hadn’t gone to NYC because this meant she hadn’t got me anything for my bday. Yes really. Like it’s my fault I am injured. Gotta love your Mum right?
So we did the cake and the pressies etc. Then we started talking about my nephews who will turn 2 this year, and how fast the past 2 years have gone. Of course this led to reminiscing about the day and week they were born and what we were all doing (my parents were on holiday). I think one thing we are all a bit guilty of forgetting is what our birthdays mean to our parents, Mum’s especially. 35 years ago this week my Mum was giving birth to me. I associate the day with age but my Mum associates it with one of the best days of her life (obviously….). She recounted the story of when I was born like only Mum’s can. How I screamed the nursery down in the night because I was hungry and woke up all the other babies (babies didn’t used to sleep in those fish tanks next to the bed 35 years ago – separate rooms so Mum’s could get some kip). About how my brother was gutted I was a girl.
It was then I realized that my birthday might make me feel old but in many ways it kept my Mum feeling younger. And happy. I wonder why we don’t give our parents cards or gifts on our birthdays really. It’s kind of like an unofficial mothers day. For this reason it was quite nice I wasn’t on the other side of the Atlantic just for that day. I don’t think I had a birthday at home in my twenties as I lived away (for most of them I was probably slightly intoxicated in some pub in Manchester…). I also don’t think it once crossed my mind what my bday meant to them.
So on that note I shall stop moaning about my age and just say this. Thanks Mum (and Dad) and Happy Birthday xx
Oh and P.S. Sorry I woke up all the babies in the nursery but you clearly didn’t feed me enough…
Adios amigo's x
No comments:
Post a Comment