When I grow up Dilly Dilly ...

When do we grow up?

I am now, the age my mum was when my dad died, ergo, my husband is almost the same age as my dad!

I don't feel any different than the child, for at 21 that is all I was. My mum seemed older, more adult, more capable.

I've lived another 25 years since then, qualifed, met and married, gave birth twice, had a hysterectomy and had a multitude of jobs.

I've sat by the bed of a dying relative, and held the hand of the one left behind.

I've comforted My boy's first and probably not last broken heart, and done the whole sex chat with both of them.

I've pained through the agony of my Tooli's insecurities and smiled as she has emerged through the other side as a beautiful and confident young girl with her head screwed on the right way.

I've defended my children when they have been wronged, and I have declared my right to lay down my life to protect them.

I'm prepared to make sacrifices to see them achieve their dreams.

I have and always will love my husband with all of my heart and soul.

So why is it, when he isn't here, I lay on the Couch with the kids, watch movies, sleep in, can't prepare edible meals, and think that dancing round the tv, in the style of a belly dancer is the way forward?

(Incidentally, that is how mum behaves most of the time too now - I must have just missed out the serious adult bit in between!)