This weekend, my mother came to stay. My husband was away for the weekend, and I had invited her over (we are in different countries) unable to contemplate the thought of entertaining my children alone for the duration of a Bank Holiday weekend.
I have a button that needs replacing on a shirt, I remembered earlier in the week, I’ll ask Mam to do that.
We moved house over Christmas. The fridge isn’t working 100%, I’m not sure what setting it should be on. I’ll ask Mam, when she’s over.
I can’t find the thermostat on the boiler in the airing cupboard. I’ll ask Mam, when she’s over.
I even contemplated leaving her a pile of ironing to do, but sharply had a word with myself. How pathetic, though and more than a little embarrassing too. The button I could really have done myself, as I do actually have a sewing kit (of course bought for me by my mother! I’m not enough of a grown up to go out and purchase a sewing kit). But I’ve often had this thought as I’ve googled various household queries, when will I know the things my parents know? When will I become a proper grown up?
Some things I think I should have down by now, but totally don’t.
- How to defrost a freezer.
- How to roast a chicken.
- The basic rudimentaries of a household plumbing system
- How to act authoritatively with a doctor’s receptionist.
- How to plant seeds so that something actually grows.
- What’s the correct measure of Gin for a Gin and Tonic?
I feel like it’s a kind of imposter syndrome. I’m 36, I have two kids, a husband , a full time job; but really I’m still only 21 years old. When I was growing up, I remember thinking that my mam was really old compared to other mothers, as she was 32 when she had me. I was 31 when I had my first, and 34 my second and I totally see myself as a young mother. I am deluded , I know. When I look at the other mothers on the school run, they seem so much more together than me, and, I’m going to say it, older. And I don’t mean that as a criticism of them, it’s not that they look haggard and grey or anything. It’s just in my mind I really do think I am only 21. The lines I am noticing on my face though tell a different story. As does, the ever so slightly sagging skin of my neck and the creeping grey hairs.
When will my brain catch up with my face? Or all we all forever 21?
I’d love to hear your thoughts, particularly if you know how to roast a chicken.