Because I went through all the photo albums this week I have spent a bit of time in the boondocks of my history and I've been wondering just how much, if anything at all, I'd be prepared to part with to go back to that young skinny feisty brat of a girl, cos sometimes I really miss her.
At the Jumping Pillow with the Grandie today I got a glimpse of many generations all rubbing alongside each other. There were lots and lots, well all right, too bloody many babies, all squeaking and tumbling over, and a good handful of youngsters rough housing on the pillow with the Boy and then there were young mums and young dads and lots of Mas and Pas.
The mums really held my attention. They lugged giant bags - tardis bags which were filled with all manner of magic from food and drinks and baby wipes to changes of clothes and toys and more than likely a spare car and a volume of Romantic Poetry. They threw these weights over their shoulders and scooped up a kid on each hip, slapped on a smile and toted it all off to the next little adventure.
The dads on the other hand wandered with less purpose, often on their phones and randomly calling their kids' names as they popped along carrying a form guide and a packet of fags. The kids were happy regardless of carers, but you know what really fascinated me was that both mums and dads crouched down easily to chat and love their little ones, they stripped off their shoes and jumped on the pillow, like children themselves, and I missed being able to crouch and bend and jump and lift and carry and haul arse up off the ground. Yeh I sure do miss all the flexibility of days gone.
But I remembered the unmitigated shattering tiredness. I remembered the screaming irrits of rearing a willful teenager, and the awful worry that I was doing it all wrong. I remembered that cigar box with all the cash I had in the world and when it was gone it was gone. I remembered working all day and most of the night and sleeping and the getting up and doing it all again. The life of a single parent - the all consuming banality and wonder of it. I might have been able to do back flips and play back to back games of netball, do some crocked legged splits, and direct 100 kids on stage, and cuddle my girl til my arms were numb and we were both cried out, but even though I am old and wrinkled and too fat and seized up, I am happy that I am wiser and content and sanguine and in less of a hurry.
I am pleased to have the memories like the photos, but I am pretty sure that I just simply do not have the energy to go back to being 30, and besides there is something really liberating about being in charge of a kid but being OK with him having Twisties and a Lemonade for lunch. If I had to go back to being MUM instead of MA, I would have to make a proper lunch and give consideration for the number of sugar units consumed in a day.
I do so love being MA. What a lucky woman I am. What flavour the ice cream is for dinner?
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