In a few months I will be turning 60: the BIG 6-0, the age that once only your parents went through, the one that my dear Greg turned into 5 years ago, etc etc. Does it scare me? Yes, but only in anticipation of more aches and pains that my poor aging body will inevitably experience. I’ve long given up on trying to ignore the lines on my face, the jowls, my gnarled fingers, my breasts now 36″ long, etc. The one thing I can’t ignore is when the grey hairs would start to creep up again, about every 6 weeks. Then I don’t waste time getting the bottle and in old trackie daks and my sudoku book I head for the back veranda where nothing can get in the way of accidental splashes of dark brown hair dye. As usual, I digress.
I have never really taken aging too seriously. To my mind I will always be the 37 year-old who as a single Mum had a life at home, at work, and at the gym. Add a beautiful husband, 3 apos and 23 years of life in Australia to that and I have got to be the luckiest person on earth, even if only on a Wednesday, at 3:35 pm and only when it’s not raining in Sydney.
Now even more, I love where I am in life, and I adore who I’m with! Bring it on, 60th!
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