Do I look old for my age, young for it. Do I act old or young?
Frankly, I have no idea. And don’t give a rat’s shit either on the whole ‘age factor’.
That’s why I don’t worry that my toddler doesn’t speak as much as her peers or is nowhere close to being toilet trained. That’s why I don’t gloat too much over her impeccable table manners — she will eat most dry stuff by herself, without a mess, and can handle a spoon quite well.
That’s why I don’t fret too much over why my 9-year-old’s maths skill are not genius-level. Neither do I boast too much about her reading skills or vocabulary, which are way ahead of her peers.
That’s why I don’t understand the fuss over my grey hair – I don’t even know what age I feel like. Or look like. I would be lying if I said I feel young or aged…
I don’t feel a number, I feel my life…
I feel like a mother of 2 demanding kids
I feel like the wife of a laidback, cool as cucumber news junkie
I feel like a slightly overworked, wonderfully indulged career woman
I feel like a spoilt-rotten sister
a much-appreciated daughter
I feel like a cherished friend
I feel excessively wealthy
When I am not feeling totally broke
I feel like a mean boss
Except those rare times when I feel like an indulgent one
I feel like a glutton at times
I feel like a sloth now and then
But do I feel a number…