It’s Saturday evening and I’m at my monthly visit to the roller disco with my oldest daughter.
The DJ clearly knows his audience – mums coerced into being here, keeping everything crossed that their little people remain upright and pining a glass of wine, and he is rocking out all the classics. Sat on our phones with one eye at all times on our children who are brave enough to strap four wheels to each foot and hurl themselves round and round in circle in the local sports hall, his music choices are clearly more for our purposes than theirs.
The music of course makes me reminisce. Right now, one of my favourites from my clubbing days - many, many years ago is playing and I can’t help but smile at the memories whilst at the same time feeling old - actually not old, just older. (Albeit I admit, when I first brought her here and agreed to roller skate with her to try and hold her up, but instead ended up being held up by her- then I felt old!) But also so joyous at how far I’ve come.
Of course there’s the obvious - being mum to four amazing little people makes my heart so very, very happy. It’s everything. But aside from that (and I should mention the hubby whose not so bad either) I am so much happier with me. With the person I am. I like the older me so much more than I liked the younger me. The things that were important to that person are not remotely important to this one (except of course for cake, pretty dresses and wine) And whilst I do not believe in regrets, and my journey has had moments of pure fabulousness, I do wish I had more of me back then, instead of the old version.
I wish I had been kinder, more generous and more loyal. I wish I had fought harder for what I really believed in and let the little stuff lie a lot more. I wish I had lived in the moment instead of always just wanting the next thing. Actually, I am guilty of that now too.
Don’t get me wrong - the old me wasn’t that bad! I just think the older I have got, the more confident I have become in who I am. I still have my wobbles - still have moments of pure and utter rubbish, and I still have so much to learn and grow into.
But I can honestly say at the age of 43 that I am happy, for the most part, with who I am. I am happy to be a role model of sorts for my children, confident in the morals and messages I instil in them, and happy to let them see my warts and know I am far from perfect, but also knowing that I honestly do my best to be the best I can be.
And every day, I like me a bit more. Okay, not every day - some days I’m a pants mum, a naff friend and quite often too exhausted and busy to give anyone my best. Those days I hate but acknowledge. And, as I mentioned above, I still have to focus hard on not wanting the next thing - particularly when it comes to our house which we are renovating and is testing me to the max! But I’m a better version the older I get.
And long may it continue. As they grow, I pray I will too. I hope that I can become a better person, mother, friend and wife. I hope that I can learn more and more to silence the negative and embrace the positive.
But for now, I’m just gonna sit in this corner, move my feet to the tunes and be thankful that my seven-year-old has not yet hit the stage of being embarrassed by mum who should really be sat still as opposed to shaking her booty in her chair!
