U is for Unbreakable.
I only mention it because we aren’t are we? In fact the older we get the more breakable we become. If we are lucky, most of us sail through youth wrapped in an invincibility cloak like Harry Potter on ecstasy. This cloak allows us to make ill-advised trips to Kashmir, stay out all night dancing and rabble rousing, teeter home in the dark because we have spent taxi/bus money on Tequila or beer, smoke fags, drink booze, eat rubbish and generally risk life and limb doing just what our mamas told us not to because we honestly can’t imagine the worst ever happening.
Sadly real life kicks in at some point, before your bungee rope snaps with any luck, and you realise that you are all too breakable. As are those you love. Nothing brings this hard fact home more than when you have children. It’s double bubble for keeping you up at night with the twin worries of what if something happens to her/what if something happens to me.
You wonder if you will ever have a peaceful night’s sleep again. You lie awake, your mind tied-up with wills and life insurance and Christmas. Then it might very weirdly slip off into a reverie about what a great pair of pins Letitia Dean has (lucky cow) before you are rudely ripped back to the important matter in hand: worrying. Worrying that the wheels are going to go spinning off the wagon that is your life. Worrying because you can’t remember when your last smear test was. Worrying about money and work. Car tax. Worrying. Worrying. Worrying.
And hoping that you don’t break while your child still needs you. And realising that you never want her to stop needing you. And acknowledging the fact that you haven’t yourself stopped needing your mum. And on and on and on. Until you have to get up and stuff your inner voice with Rice Krispies and episodes of Casualty just to get it to shut up.
Ring any bells? Cheerful little number tonight, readers. Sleep tight.
