The First Day of August

The first day of August, the month in which I will turn 40.

Well, that has crept up on me rather quickly I have to say.  I wanted to make a list of all the things I hoped to achieve before my birthday, but I totally forgot, so now will have to wait until my 50th to learn a new language, play an instrument and jump out of a plane… I have ten years (& 3-weeks) to think of an excuse to get out of that last one.

I am however, about to embark on a completely new journey.  For the first time in my adult life, I will not be in, or trying to be in, full-time employment.

I will also have to cut back on some of the luxuries I have been able to justify while earning my own crust.  Like, popping to the hairdresser every 7-weeks to have a glossy brown tint pasted all over my bright grey roots.  I will have to make do with running two coats of waterproof mascara through my hairline instead and hope for the best.

I will no longer need new clothes, shoes or bags for the office.  This has been my staple excuse whenever the Greek God(zilla) has copped a look at my bank statement and asked who Zara is, and why she is on our payroll.

Goodbye to Planet Organic deli lunches at £8 a pop, enjoyed in Hyde Park.  Hello cheese on toast, taken on the sofa.  I am not sure if I will even still be able to afford gluten-free bread at £3 a loaf!

We have not yet had the discussion about the lovely woman who comes to our house for 4-hours every other week and cleans the toilet, but I am hoping if I just avoid having the conversation with the Greek God(zilla), I will be allowed to keep her.  This approach seemed to work 3-months after my c-section, when I simply just forgot to let her go, and have continued to forget for almost 4-years.

Will I still need to wear make-up and straighten my hair for the school run?  I am guessing not so much, but as this only costs me time, and I am soon to become less time-poor, then I think I can afford to keep this little treat in.

If I had a gym membership, I would definitely cancel it.  In a heartbeat.

But what I am getting back in return is more time with my son.  I will be there for drop-offs, pick-ups, after school activities and school holidays.  I will no longer be a slave to the washing machine at 10pm, or found emptying the dishwasher at dawn.  I will not have to book annual leave to wait in for a delivery, or wait 16-weeks for an early morning doctors appointment.

I will be able to slow down and catch my breath.

I will never have this time again, and you really can’t put a price on that.


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Image courtesy of bulldogza /

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