I go through two schools of thought on this one.
There are times when I think – and feel – the distance I’ve come, the fact that I know myself and I’m more comfortable in my own skin than I’ve ever been, that I look better – and God knows I dress better – than I did when I was younger (on that note, I’m in awe at how groomed young girls are these days. My teenage make-up attempts were unmitigated disasters – I still remember the time I went for a free make-over and had to get the tube home with blue mascara and green eyeshadow).
And then it hits me that there are so many milestones that I’ve failed to achieve and I’m filled with fear. My biological clock is ticking louder than ever. I don’t know if it’s because I desperately want a child or I desperately still want the option to have one. I do know – or I believe – that having a child will make me a better person, or more specifically, a less selfish one, with less time to worry about the petty things that take up far too much time and energy now (anti-aging products, anyone?) There’s got to be more to life than worrying about grey hairs and my failing eyesight and whether I still look younger than the next woman.
The world is not kind to ageing spinsters…