This month I have stepped out of the family home and temporarily shaken off some of my limiting labels, such as Mum, wife, housewife, stay at home mum, Daisy’s mum, and many other titles too.
It appears that I’m now of an age where I can no longer eat what the hell I like and boast about my super duper metabolism. Nope, now a minute on the lips starts to slide down onto my hips, thereby creating a padded cake shelf, which I could blame on having had four children, but it wasn’t there before the autumnal nights of red wine, chocolate and savoury snacks slipped into my life
I remember the sleepless nights when our eldest child was a colicky newborn, the frustrating times of him being a wilful three-nager, the daily meetings with his reception year teacher over his non-compliant behaviour, and I can even recall the times of the three hundred questions a day inquisitive six year old.
The word January originates from a Latin word meaning “an obligation to ask everyone if they had a nice Christmas” or “What is your new year’s resolution?” Actually, as you have probably already concluded, that is not based on a true story. January is named after Janus, the god of new beginnings and transitions, so there is a tenuous link between making resolutions and new beginnings.
So often we are told to step outside of our comfort zone or to take a leap of faith, but how often do we actually go for it? How many hours, days, weeks, and years pass before we do actually change our norm? We can get so stuck in our daily habits and routines, that we never get the desire or chance to look at why we are actually here on this earthly plane.
Back in my long and distant past when I was a mere youth, every other weekend I would zoom down to Bournemouth for a weekend of dancing the night away on some dancefloor or stage somewhere. Many a time I could be found swaying and bopping away in one revealing attire or another, dancing away without a care in the world. One song that will always remind me of these wonder years will be Insomnia by Faithless. Fast forward twenty something years and insomnia is no longer something that raises a smile.
This week, I learnt that a friend had honey trapped her husband due to her suspicions of her husband’s online activities with other ladies. For those of you that don’t know, honey trapping has nothing to do with bee keeping whatsoever, instead it is the term used to describe the private investigation into the fidelity of a partner.
It has been a weird old week this one. My mum would say that its planetary, and talk of the position of Jupiter and such like. Emotionally, I have been all over the place without really knowing why. I have been a weird mix of giggle pot, intolerant human being and a tearful bundle.