Becoming Bridget…

Becoming Bridget…

I truly believe Helen Fielding channelled the spirit of every thirty-something year old singleton when she envisioned Bridget Jones.

We know what we should and shouldn’t do by this grand old age. By now, we’ve finely tuned the falling over drunk but with grace and not flashing knickers in public. Cunningly honed hiding wine from the kids until its mummy time. We’ve also gone so far as to eradicate the smell of a crafty cigarette (albeit by hanging out of the kitchen window when it’s raining).

Today, has mostly been a Bridget day.

The children have been away and I in my wisdom have been sitting here in a Pikachu onesie watching trashy TV, wasting two hours on my life on the Colin Farrell version of Total Recall, eating eggs, because that’s all I have in the fridge that’s edible at the moment. Oh, doing the sloth…You think that stops when you hit 23? You’d be very wrong.

You know what? It’s been bloody brilliant

Anyone who knows me will vouch for the fact that I don’t stop. Worse than that, I don’t know when to take five and have some me time. I work, spend time with my kids, cook, clean, make other people laugh, make some of them cry, clean up more mess, feed the cat, do my research work, clean up sick, plaster bobos, school run. Eat rinse repeat.

These apathetic moments spent in indulgence, with my beloved blog, an even more well-loved glass of red, and my glorious onesie are, of late, few and far between. I’ve found a heroine in Bridget, and this is where Fielding had it spot on – she makes mistakes. Well not mistakes, but huge old ball bagging whoppers.

And this is what we girls have to HAVE to admit as we grow older, we are still allowed to make them. In fact as you get older the mistakes become funnier, granted, but harder to find the funny in; excuse my grammar, I’m trying to be Buffy the Vampire Slayer, who I’m sure is nursing the onset of osteoporosis and finding white pubes as girls of our generation all are. BUT IT’S FINE!

Bridget, and today has helped me put some things in proportion, and remind me that it’s ok from time to time to have some time solely for myself. Curled up watching trash on my very comfortable second-hand sofa. I’ve found my D’arcy, but there’s no room for him on this sofa today. Sorry.

Plus the cat would get jealous.

This is life at the moment. Thanks Bridget, you’ve absolutely made my day.