I’m A Gen X Graduate!

Joanna Montegriffo Bailey - 26 Jan 16

Two things happened in the same week. The first thing was a turtle neck cropped top that came in my latest Asos order.

Yes. I said cropped top. Obviously I didn’t realize it was cropped when I ordered it. I have a post partem belly. I can’t wear that kind of thing. One of my beautiful younger cousins could. I couldn’t, however, bring myself to fully accept that I couldn’t wear it. Trapped between unrealistic hope that I would magically become my taut tummied 1999 self and the realization that I was mid 30s and a double mama, I just left it on top of the laundry basket. It lay there, mocking me every time I passed it.

The second thing that happened was Champagne Supernova.

Two words that mean nothing to a vast majority of people.

To be honest, it’s been a long time since it meant something to me either. That was, of course, until yesterday. As I did the mummy dance to get my baby to sleep while simultaneously feeding my two year old, the nostalgic Gallagher whines emanated from the radio in invisible sound waves that swaddled around me and, momentarily, I was transformed into a wrinkle free, scrunchie enthusiast, Doctor Marten wearing teen.

It was only for a split second but I swear that I was transformed for an instant before a flying piece of broccoli brought me straight back to the present moment. It bought me straight back to where I belonged.

But Champagne Supernova had done its job.

And with Oasis blaring in the background (I’d turned it up by this point), I realised that I was part of a very specific generation that, due to the passage of time, had congealed very firmly into the 90s generation. The last generation that met at the petrol station at exactly 3pm because they’d arranged it and couldn’t cancel last minute via text. The last generation who could make mistakes and not have them documented online forever. The last generation who had to have embarrassing phone calls with potential boyfriends in front of the whole family on the one and only landline in the kitchen.

And just like that, I had a vision of other 30 something year old mums who had unceremoniously and unknowingly transformed from crop top wearing, grunge, Kurt Cobain loving teens to Peppa Pig aficionados, bopping to the beat of the baby’s boos. Alone with the two little life appendages, I never felt more part of something.

Not only did I feel part of a new generation of ex 90s teens cum 30 something year old mums, I felt I had graduated. Somewhere between soiled nappies and a newfound love for comfortable shoes, I had, pretty much unconsciously, changed my identity. I had graduated from the university of insecurity, impracticalities and cropped tops and had enrolled in a postgrad course in refereeing, insomnia, multitasking, nursing, prioritizing, counseling and general mothering.

And better still, I was ok with this.

I’ll, of course, be calling one of said beautiful and younger undergraduate cousins to see if they want a cropped, turtle neck top.

I’m off to watch some Octonauts.

Joanna Montegriffo Bailey

Lover of salty hair, winter ocean swims, eggy chips, Jack Johnson and new beginnings. Excited by the small things. Devoted to my hair, my boys and living. Olive enthusiast.

View profile for posts, events and more info