Socks

Today, I am 40 years old. It’s a shocker, it really is.

I’ve had some big moments in my life where I teetered on the edge of growing up, but I always managed to rock back on my heels and resist.

When you become a mum for the first time, and you realise you’re in charge of this tiny bundle’s life, you are forced to pull your socks up and be responsible.

When a man in a white coat tells you your new child has a rare chromosome disorder and will consequently never live an independent life, you have to hoick those socks up even further.

And when you try and try for another baby but the little blighters keep failing to stick, all that damn tugging means your socks start losing their elasticity.

And yet.

When big moments happen, when things get tough, when decisions need to be made, I still look over my shoulder for the adult in the room. And take a big gulp when I realise that it’s me.

Still, having reached this grand old age, I’ve finally realised something. Just because you are an adult doesn’t mean you always have to be one.

So I have given myself permission for the following actions (some of which have happened once, some of which have happened a few times, and some of which happen all the time)...

To be a bit silly. To do daft things. To drink too much and make a fool of myself. To pogo to sweary music in my kitchen. To have a food fight. To tell filthy jokes. To perfect my already extremely impressive but ultimately pointless Scooby Doo impression. To sit on a beanbag eating sweets and watching Jaws on the telly when I should be packing for my house move the next day. To put off filling out that Disability Living Allowance form and instead spend all evening making a homemade birthday card for my mate by superimposing their head on top of Katie Price’s. To go the supermarket for milk and toilet roll but come back with gin and Monster Munch.

To have fun.

Happy 40th, me. Here’s to never growing up.

Video is Madness - Forever Young