I have been musing about age recently.  I have just had my thirty fifth birthday.  This made me suddenly feel OLD.  I am a new comer to this feeling, none of my previous birthdays made me feel like this.  I think now being officially half way through my thirties and rapidly hurtling towards fourty has scared the crap out of me.  I think it has to do with my mother dying at the tender age of fourty four.  If I am to follow in her footsteps then it means I have less than a decade of life left to live.  The last ten years flew past incredibly quickly and I assume the next ten will go even quicker.  This is a driving force as to why I wanted to start writing things that people will actually read.  My hope is that it will motivate me to write a book.  One of my goals in life is to be a published author.

Another part of the age thoughts is the age gap.  Ten days ago The Guardian published and article about Stephen Fry who is going to marry his partner.  The focus of the article was the fact that Fry is twenty seven years older than his beau. Not if they love each other, have anything in common or if they will last the test if time.  I am older than my lovely boyfriend, nearly ten years older.  Should this matter?   I don’t think so.  We have a great relationship and we are very happy, he is not stupidly immature, in fact most of the time he is much more grown up than I am.  When I fell unexpectedly pregnant it did become an issue to me.  I was worried that he would feel trapped or not ready yet for such a massive life changer.  When I was twenty five I was out every weekend with a concoction of  booze and chemicals crashing around in my bloodstream, out until the smallest of small hours, I was managing a shop in the town center and my plans were to save money to go and travel.  Obviously my stupid social life meant that I never did save much money, and my disastrous choice in boyfriends meant that I was always spending my money on moving and replacing all of my kitchenware.  What if he needed to have that part of his life?  What if he had not seen a long term future with me?  What if he felt tricked?  We hadn’t used contraception because doctors had told me that I couldn’t get pregnant.  Luckily for me, lovely boyfriends’ response was “I was thinking that we could get another puppy next year, I suppose we will have a baby instead then.”  Amazing.

But now I think how I feel at thirty five.  And if I make it past the dreaded fourty four, how will I feel at fourty five?  Will it be the same as now?  Will he want to be running around with his mates all boozy whilst I want to sit in and watch films about world war two? Or worse, what if I do get the horrible family hand me down of bowel cancer and die like my mother and her father before her and generations before that.  I will leave a thirty fiver year old widower with a nine year old child.  He is totally gorgeous and has a brilliant brain so I am sure that there will be a queue of sympathetic women waiting in the wings to console him.  But what would that turn of life events do to his lovely brain?  My father did not take it well at all and I spent the whole first year after my mother died being terrified that he was going to follow her.  Luckily the worst thing to happen to him was that he ate chips for every meal and now nearly eighteen years later he wont eat food that doesn’t come with chips.

I hope that we continue to love each other and enjoy our time together however long or short that may end up being.  I hope that I do write a book.  I hope that I don’t die of bowel cancer ( or any other cancer for that matter) in my fourties.  I hope that I get to meet my son’s boy/girl/hermaphrodite/poloyamorous love group friend when he is older.  So actually feeling old has made me feel hopeful.  And hope is great, it is forward thinking and positive.  I cant wait to see how it all turns out.

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