Memoirs of a brand new 30 year old ;)

Last weekend, I put a jacket in my 'give away' bag, couldn't bring myself to do it just yet, so took it right out again. Dan asked why, and I said 'smell it and you'll understand... or maybe you won't...' It still smells of my Grandma... I was 5 months pregnant with our little boy when she died. When both of my children do cute things, I send my Grandad, my parents and Dan's family a message or a photograph/video - and miss telling my Grandma every time. I still haven't deleted her mobile number from my phone.

I also share a soft toy apple with my cousins, bought in a local newsagents on the day our Nana died. It was something that made us smile on a difficult day and triggers a memory of a shared moment in time. I was going out with Dan at the time, so she didn't make my wedding and didn't meet our 2 little sweethearts. And I think of her often, suddenly tasting madeira cake in my mouth, smelling sweet milky tea and visualising Silvermints peaking out from behind a picture frame in her living room, I still remember her home phone number.

I used to email Uncle Kevin with anecdotes, photos and corny jokes, and we'd exchange lovely updates via texts from him about our little girls ('our' being his daughter Em and my daughter T who was 1 year and 3 months when he died). To me, he was so similar to my own Dad, his sense of humour and character, hence we got on well. I was very fond of him and his kind qualities. He reminded me of my Nana too, and I wish I was as good as they were at keeping in touch with extended family. I can't bring myself to delete his email address, it's still saved as a contact in my email account.

What probably started off this sentimental post was this - last night, I went to sleep in my 20's. This morning, I woke up in my 30's.

It's a funny feeling. Those of you who know me, know that I don't celebrate events such as birthdays, Mothers' day etc, any event with unchristian origins. It still makes an impression on me though, becoming a little older... perhaps I'll be taken a bit more seriously now. I found when people heard the word 'twenty' at the beginning of my age, it didn't seem to matter that I was a mum of 2, or that I'd quite possibly experienced some things they never had. It was all about a number. A low number. A number that indicates youth, lack of maturity.  I have a lovely friend, also a mum, gone through more things in life than I could even imagine. I feel she's nothing like others I know in our age group, certainly seems more mature than me at times, and she's a couple of years younger than me! The danger of assumption.

While I notice many I know are celebrating Mothers today, I hope I become worthy of my family, especially my children, celebrating me and my efforts more often than once a year. No need for chocolates, flowers or cuppa in bed (though all VERY welcome). A loving kiss, a warm affectionate cuddle (aka 'cwtch', Welsh word for such a hug) or a gesture from the heart is more than enough to help me feel appreciated and loved. Won't matter what age I'll be. As long as they love me. When my babies volunteer such gestures, I melt.

Be still, my beating heart  ♥