I've been thinking and wondering about age a lot recently. Age and time and years. Maybe its because I'm speeding towards a milestone birthday. Maybe its because I'm in one of the most beautiful places in the world and I have time to think. Or maybe its because at this time of the year all my girlies turn one year older.

I don't know.


Here's a bit of what I've been thinking lately:

I don't feel like I am old enough or mature enough or sophisticated enough to be turning forty. It's funny but I was having a big think about this on the beach early this morning, when two friends walked past discussing the exact same thing. Unless they are sick, almost every adult I talk to in life feels younger than their years. My own grandfather told me recently that he could easily switch the numbers in his age and be 39 like me instead of his own 93.

I have a husband and three kids, a business, a house and a car like a forty year old might, but I just thought that as a forty year old I might be more organised, neater, more settled and serious. Nope.

My farmer boy doesn't think like this though. He says he is what he is and age means nothing.



Then there is the fact that so often adults struggle with aging while kids seem to be in such a hurry to reach their next birthday and their next and their next. On New Years' Eve this year as soon as the clock struck midnight and we had wished each other a happy new year, all the kids started excitedly comparing notes about the age they would turn next year (ie not this year's birthday but next.) My kids were terribly excited to be turning five, nine and twelve, but I was not exactly thrilled to be skipping straight to forty one.



And lastly, my kids love celebrating milesstones and cannot wait to reach them and celebrate them. Whereas I and a lot of other Mothers I speak to feel a twinge of sadness at these times. First days of school, birthdays, weaning, lost teeth, growing out of clothes... ouch!

This mother has never even given her last baby a haircut and she is four!

Birthdays and milestones mean time is passing and that means lasts and farewells and they are hard.

Late last night I carried my newly minted four year old back to the caravan. We'd had the most incredible day that had finished off with a pizza by candle light dinner with the entire crew and then an outdoor movie where every single child fell asleep. As I carried Miss Pepper to bed I nuzzled into her sleepy neck and started crying. My baby.

At the end of the happiest and most beautiful day I was crying because time was passing.

I was happy and grateful too of course.



There are 10 more days until my big day, I'll try not to bore you with my aging musings too much between now and then.

Happy aging. xx

ps. Monkey Mia with her dolphins, her crystal clear waters and our camp site right on the beach is possibly the most beautiful place we have been.