This is me, more than 40 years ago pushing a pram.
Today, like most days, I was pushing a pram. This time with my own child in it.
It's a cliche I know but where the bloody hell did those 40-something years go? I only feel, ooh let's say, 25.
I don't feel old enough to be responsible for the welfare of three children who look to me for guidance, support, comfort and food. I may creak a bit more; I may need glasses to read small print; I may need anti-wrinkle cream; I may need caffeine in the mornings. But I don't feel as old as I am.
Is this normal? At what point do you feel your age (perhaps with the exception of immediately after my workout today)? Should I have done more, achieved more, seen more by now? Is that why I don't believe I can possibly be 40-something? Should I be more successful, with a more expensive handbag and shoes? Maybe.
Should I be happy that my children are thriving? Should I be grateful everyday for the love of my husband? Should I go out there and grab life with both hands and enjoy the ride? Should I stop worrying about my age?
Joining in with The Gallery at Sticky Fingers.