Happy birthday to me!

I’m 39. How the heck did that happen? To celebrate, I will be slipping on my killer sparkly heels, wearing a knockout LBD and hitting the town to drink until the wee hours and roll home at whatever time I can get a taxi. Only kidding.

As a teenager, I thought 30 was ancient and here I am, almost four decades into my existence on planet Earth. It’s been the best and most challenging year of my life and one of two halves, the first six months I was growing a tiny human and spending my days dreaming about what he would look like, yearning to hold him. The second part was becoming a mother. The hardest and most rewarding job I’ll ever do.

I’ll spend the last year of my thirties trying to be the best mum I can be and attempting to check a few more things of the bucket list before I turn the big 4-0. Growing older is a strange thing. You don’t really notice your familiar face blinking back at you each day changing, bar the ever increasing fine lines around the eyes, the odd silver hair. Some days, I fizzle with energy, excited for the future and other days, I just feel old.

However, I have everything I wanted in my early thirties, a solid, dependable man who loves me, a nice home that I feel safe in, a beautiful son. Plus, I have a pretty incredible support network in the shape of my wonderful family and friends. I’m lucky and I really am grateful for it. I still have ambitions, I am still a woman with hopes and dreams and I’m always going to be chasing rainbows, that’s just who I am.

I might not be going clubbing this year, but my lovely hubby will be taking me out for a slap up birthday meal of steak and red wine. It’s the stuff of dreams. It doesn’t take much to make me happy, but I just said it. I’m happy. That’s the best birthday present I could ask for.


He’s not getting near my birthday cake!