It doesn’t seem so very long ago that I stopped identifying with the Saturday staff at Bhs and despite being a good 7 or 8 years older than them (and wobbling about the fact they were born in the 1980s) still felt like I was ‘one of them’ sharing wild stories about what we’d been up to at the weekend. I don’t feel that any more and infact have had to give way to my ‘friendly older sister’ type way with the Saturday assistants at the library and adopt a ‘very young but actually old enough to be your mother’ type way now, being very aware that I don’t actually want to hear about what they get up to on a Saturday night because the times when my own children are having Saturday night adventures are nearer in the future than the times when I did were in the past!
Today while doing storytime at work I realised I have left behind my feelings of unity with the mothers of very small children too. The nappy changes, the fretting about first words, first teeth, first steps, first day at school stuff all feels so very long ago (or in the case of school not at all of course). It’s odd that I’ve left it all behind so fast as Scarlett is only 2 or 3 years older than some of the children attending storytime but they just seem so very small and far behind her. No longer do I need to worry about being able to see my children at all times incase they have run out of the library towards the road, no longer do I need to bring sippy cups of juice with me or worry about parking a pushchair or carrying spare clothes incase of toilet related accidents. I have no horror stories to share about broken nights or early mornings any more. These are the things I hear the mums at Storytime chatter about. When I held baby Lorna the other day it felt like almost a whole lifetime ago that I cuddled my own tiny babies.
Last night Ady was trying to tell Davies and Scarlett that their childhood is the best years of their lives. I corrected him as I certainly don’t believe mine was (and I by no means had a bad or unhappy childhood, but I much prefer being an adult and making my own choices and decisions) and I hate that perpetuated myth that the best times for anyone are the ones you’ve already kissed goodbye to. I don’t want to live on memories alone; there is far too much opportunity for dreaming and hoping for the future and indeed revelling and enjoying the here and now.
I remember an old woman coming up to me in the supermarket when Davies was teeny tiny and newborn and telling me what a shame it is that we can’t remember that first sliver of our lives when we are most loved and cherished because it never happens again. And I feel a bit sad. And then I picture being a great grandmother, surrounded by generations of my family with Davies and Scarlett old and grey themselves, their children and their grandchildren all around and think ‘no that old woman had it wrong’, the best is yet to come. It was interesting to quite literally feel the end of an era this morning but I’m viewing it like a marker along the way on a marathon, good to have reached and passed and still with plenty more to smash through along the way stretched out infront of me.