Diary of A Modern Mid-Life Crisis – Part 1

Anniki Sommerville - 5 Dec 17

If I was in a one of those magazine profiles of successful business women, I’d tell you that I get up at four to do Pilates and then lap up my bircher muesli (soaked in almond milk the night before), and catch up on emails whilst doing conference calls whilst getting my hair blown dry (yes these women exist but they have LIVE IN CHILDCARE and are VERY RICH.) The truth is most days, I wake up with this God-awful screaming, and try to ignore it by shoving my face into the pillow. If I don’t respond to the shouts, the ‘Minion fart gun’ (a pretty self-explanatory torture/child’s toy) will be shoved against my ear, and high volume farts will be blasted into my sleepy head. I often have to resist the urge to kick, Pete, my partner, in the side. Why is it he sleeps through this noise? (it’s because he wears earplugs and is a fairly deep sleeper).

The morning was then a blur of soggy, uneaten cereal, then an alternative breakfast of boiled egg, which also goes uneaten. Leggings put on and taken off. A mutual decision to wear a dress. Then a battle with a toothbrush and the blue toothpaste versus the orange one (one washed off and then the other put on the brush instead.) Then off to nursery and a kiss for Pete (resisting the urge to say something bitter as he’s actually a good Dad and hates his job as much as I do). Then Bella’s on her scooter flying towards imminent death and I was sprinting with my laptop in a rucksack on my back doing the tell-tale, stooped stop-start run, walk, run, walk, shrieking – STOP BEFORE YOU GET TO THE ROAD!  Then alternating this with checking my phone to see if there were any mails I needed to ping a response to, and then – STOP BEFORE YOU GET TO THE ROAD! And then more emails, and the main thing I needed was coffee as my eyes seemed to be glued shut.

And that was the merry mess and it was only eight.

‘Listen,’ I said to Bella, as she tearfully took her coat off and I hung it on her peg, ‘Life is often about doing stuff you don’t want to. I’m sorry but it’s true.’

This wasn’t a good way to start the day but it’s the truth. I wished someone had told me early on that I would never marry John Taylor from Duran-Duran, would never live in L.A, and have my own Llama sanctuary. I felt like I had unrealistic expectations which have only made things worse.

Besides, life was generally getting harder. I think on that we’ve all agreed.

On the train I took out a small mirror and noticed with horror that another white hair had popped out on the bottom of my chin. These were becoming more common and soon I would resemble Kenny Rogers (Google him if you must). I licked my finger and tried to encourage the hair to lie flat but it wouldn’t play ball. Aside from the beard, I was okay looking. Strong features do you a service as you age as it gives structure for all that sagging skin to hang off. I dyed my hair blonde every six weeks because whilst I knew grey was increasingly fashionable, I wasn’t sure it was or whether people were just being kind.

Anyway this stuff I’m talking about is photocopier noise. It’s the chilly tap-tap on the keyboards and you’re barely listening. What’s interesting is what happens when a woman reaches forty-two and everything comes crashing down. Or perhaps it’s not.

After the early wake up call, the nursery drop, the lukewarm cappuccino supped through a plastic cup, the emails, standing on the tube trying to read the paper but unable to bend my arms without elbowing the man next to me. After the slog, the relationship, the dying eggs inside me, the wanting, needing, striving, hoping and more plans and intentions than you can fling a bloody stick at.

This is the endless exhaustion of being a modern woman, and growing old.

(This is a short extract from ‘Diary of a Modern Mid-Life Crisis’ by Anniki Sommerville. For more extracts follow on IG @annikiselfishmother)

Image source – https://www.pinterest.co.uk/explore/collage-art/

Anniki Sommerville

I'm Super Editor here at SelfishMother.com and love reading all your fantastic posts and mulling over all the complexities of modern parenting. We have a fantastic and supportive community of writers here and I've learnt just how transformative and therapeutic writing can me. If you've had a bad day then write about it. If you've had a good day- do the same! You'll feel better just airing your thoughts and realising that no one has a master plan. I'm Mum to a daughter who's 3 and my passions are writing, reading and doing yoga (I love saying that but to be honest I'm no yogi).

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