Turning 20 … Where’s my cane?

Well, Friday 13 was my 20th birthday.

I’m not sure how I feel about this turning of a new decade. I’ve already come across some pros, some cons, and some cons that sould be pros.

The sort of teenage silliness that I'm supposed to have grown out of! This is Prosh, a fundraising event done by students at the University of Western Australia. The man on my right is a fellow student and good sport!

Pro: I look a whole lot more respectable on paper now than I did last weekend. I know this for one big fat obvious reason – people reply to me. Over the last couple of weeks, I have been submitting papers near and far in order to get myself and Felix’s father a home loan. And without fail, it gets to the “Age of Applicant?” question…. Que my heart falling as I write the number “19”. I may as well have written “Don’t call me back, i’m too busy partying to repay my mortgage!” Well, I submitted a few more on Friday to get them in for review over the weekend, proudly typing the big two-oh into the age box. And hey presto! We had our first appointment made the very next day!

Another teenage trait I was supposed to grow out of - Dying my hair. This was the second last colouring, it took so long it deserved a photo.

Con: I can no longer play the teenager card. Why is your hair so many colours? Why so many piercings? Why so many high heeled shoes? Why so many Voks in your alcohol cupboard? The answer to all of these was previously quite simple – Well, what do you expect – I’m a teenager. Controversy is what I do best. But I find myself no longer able to use this excuse, now that I have reached the ripe old age of twenty. I am going to have to think up a better excuse than that I am just a little bit odd… any ideas?

Pro: I am no longer a teenage mama.Even though the actual age of my jump into parenting is unchanged, I suddenly sound much more respectable being a mum “in her twenties” than in her teens. Felix’s father is also happy about this change in social standing – He no longer sounds like a child molester, previously the 8 year age gap was too much to handle when it crossed from 18 to 26, but now at us being 20 and 27 (his birthday isn’t for a few more months) people don’t bat an eyelid.

A benefit of being a young mum - dressing up at Halloween with your child! I was a cat, Felix was a spider.

Con: I am no longer a teenage mama. This falls into the “con that should be a pro” category. But there is something comforting about being a teenage parent. Yes, you are judged near and far for being so scandalous to have had pre-marital sex, even in a 4-year relationship, but it also opens a whole world inaccessable to a standard parent. I’ve made some of my closest friends through my controversial parenthood – I met my best friend through a group with a maximum parent age of 25, and I’ve worked hard to gain respect from my older peers despite my age. Now that I’ve swapped decades, I’ve lost the credit for all that hard work, and I have been thrown into the world of average age parents, many of whom have had life experiances I am yet to have, such as beginning a career. I’m out of my comfort zone.

My "post-teenager" card from Felix's father.... Hmm -.-

I could go on and on, the list is a long one – not the least of which is the very many old jokes I gained from family members on my birthday. Including this “post-teenager” birthday card from Felix’s father (Hah hah -.-) and the shock my mother seemed to be dealing with that she now has a daughter in her twenties AND is a grandma, the epitomy of elderly symptoms it seems. But I think i’ll leave it with four.

Age is simply a measure of time… Isn’t it curious how much society bases on a simple digit upgrade?


The End of an Era!

Well, we have officially entered our last fortnight in our house.

Felix's pre-natal Father's Day gift

The first house me and my baby’s father lived in, the house I spent my pregnancy in, the house I went into labour in and the house I bought my son home in. There’s a lot of memories tucked into these old, dusty, run down walls.

Of course, this house has also had the longest record of complaints i’ve ever made to a landlord… be it broken taps, a gas leak, a roof falling in, or the excessive water bill (to name but a few) it’s sure showing it’s 60-odd years of existance! And still, i’m finding it hard to say goodbye to this place. It’s served us well, being cheap, with a big garden and no pet restrictions, the perfect spot.

We’ve began packing, and with it has come the biggest shot of nostalgia i’ve had since giving birth. Packing away my most treasured baby-Felix toys meant making the heartbreaking decision to either chuck it or keep it for a future child… A decision I was certainly not prepared for! Each flannelette had me thinking of his first bath, each toy of the reason it was gifted, each chewed up book of the first page he turned.

Felix covered in lipstick-kisses after my first modelling shoot as a Mama

I’m an utter sop when it comes to memories. I know and accept this.

The curious thing I have found about parenting is, men do not seem to have such strong attachments to baby memories as women. Be it his first crawl, first tooth, first birthday, his father has never seemed as mind-boggled as me. Why is this? Sure, in the first month I found myself distinctively more in tune with my baby than his father, as would be expected for someone who has spent 9 months washing in a bath of super-charged hormones. But surely by the age of 16 months this initial hormone boost would have worn off?

However, time and time again I find myself being ridiculed for my unneccesary attachment to the little peg that cut his umbilical cord, and teased for my inability to watch a birth scene on TV without welling up some tears.

I plan to look into this. Is this distanced approach an all-men thing? Are parents equally emotionally connection to their children? Leave some thoughts below 🙂