Becoming an adult hasn’t exactly panned out the way I envisaged it.
I didn’t think at 24 that I’d still be having to Google how to poach an egg or how to get red wine out of my jumper after trying to sneak a bottle into a pub on New Years Eve and then dropping and subsequently smashing it at the bouncers feet.
I should have that shit nailed by now.
When I was younger and thought about being a twenty-something, they were definitely people with their life sorted and well into adulthood.
Definitely not people approaching the end of the 16-25 railcard window and wondering how they were going to cope without a third off railfares. I mean PLEASE David Cameron, I have to eat frozen peas in pesto in tupperware and call it a ‘Pea Salad’ for lunch at work. Do I look like I’ve got cash to splash on Southern Rail’s bonus package right now?
I don’t even feel like an adult myself. Apart from when I see my younger cousins and all of a sudden I’ve unwittingly taken on the role of the drunk aunt – something which I played with great conviction on Boxing Day I might add. The person who insists on asking them about school and their favourite subjects and favourite teachers and they just want to lock themselves in the bathroom.
And whilst lots of my life is ‘adult’ – I have a job, I pay an electricity bill and I host dinner parties (well, you know, people come to my house to be fed). There is one part that I psychologically feel no more ready for now than when I was fourteen – having children.
I guess I assumed that as I grew older the idea would eventually seem more and more appealing, but in fact it’s quite the opposite. The more I learn about childbirth and babies, the more I think oh my god. Never.
Maybe it’s because previously whenever I thought about it that was always ‘future’ me but now it’s a question of whether I, as an adult, want that to be part of my life.
And right now, I’m just not so sure.
I don’t imagine getting to old age and only having a load of Battersea-cats around the Christmas table. I hope to have people there, and I love large families (I come from one) and I love the anarchy.
I just don’t know at what point the scales might start to tip towards broody and wanting to spend days in Mothercare.
But I’m telling you. It won’t be any time soon.
Pyjamas – Cath Kidston