Is It Just Me?
Page 13
3rd March 2013
Turning forty
I am turning forty in a few months and it doesn’t faze me one little bit. I have several friends who are also hitting this milestone at around the same time, and they are split fifty-fifty between those who couldn’t care less (like me) and those who shiver like a nervous Pomeranian left outside a supermarket at the mere mention of it. I’m thrilled with where I am at forty. In love, with three extraordinary children, a fabulous career and a home I plan on staying in for so long that I’m imagining where the ramps will go. Things are good. Sure, I’m also feeling old. But in a good way. Old like Dame Judi Dench (read: sage), not old like Jackie Stallone (read: ouch).
My thirties have been mayhem, and I am hoping my forties will be just as busy, but, to be honest, not as physically taxing. I have worked a lot and grown a lot of humans in the last five years, and I am looking forward to retiring my soft trapdoor maternity bras and sleeping without a night light. And yet I know that when those moments come, I will be so very sad about them.
I am also looking forward to having sex again. One day. You know what they say ... naughty forty! Allegedly. We’ll see.
Anyway, a person can learn a lot in forty years. So, here I give you the things I know for sure after forty years on this planet:
Nothing says, “Welcome home, I love you,” more than being able to sniff a cooking free-range chook or beef bourguignon all the way from the driveway.
Making a commitment to eating a breakfast of quinoa, almond milk and pomegranate seeds every single day is not sustainable when egg-and-bacon toasties are still available in the world.
“Nesting” is a twee word for the biological compulsion to purchase useless things while you’re pregnant. Also, is anyone keen on a pair of oriental-themed bedside tables, sixteen cushions made from vintage tea towels, or a yoghurt maker? Going cheap.
Avoid the hairdresser while pregnant or newly at home with a baby. You will leave the salon looking like a cockatoo or Brian Mannix in the “Everybody Wants to Work” film clip, circa 1984.
Stevie Nicks from Fleetwood Mac does a much better show when she’s clean and sober. I say this after seeing her perform, many years ago, to a packed and somewhat shocked arena, while remaining mostly horizontal on what appeared to be a bed of incense, handkerchiefs and tambourines.
Heaping over-the-top praise on your children for no reason is absolutely fine. I regularly look into my four-year-old’s eyes and tell him he is the most perfect, clever, funny and beautiful human being who ever walked the earth. He quakes with pleasure. I figure he won’t care that I am working hard to give him a great education and organic bananas, but I hope he will remember my face looking at his and telling him he is amazing.
Either decide to leave your bikini line in its natural state or commit to seeing a professional waxer regularly. It’s one or the other. Trust me, I’ve tried DIY and ended up with a pelt not dissimilar to that of an itchy Balinese street dog. Ignore this warning at your own peril. But if you do, my friend Clementine and I suggest that a Mason Pearson hairbrush will give you the best relief.
Working doesn’t make you a bad mother. And staying at home doesn’t either.
If someone is eyeballing you while you physically fill out your details on any kind of form, you will never, ever be able to remember the date. And, usually, you will forget what year it is too.
Being punched in the face will hurt a lot less than if your kid says, “You never play with me.”
Peter Allen’s “Tenterfield Saddler” is the saddest song ever written.
Sometimes, kids just want to watch The Super Hero Squad Show with a glass of milk instead of exploring role-play via Play-Doh sausages. You are not a bogan for letting them.
Try to throw out fresh-cut flowers before the water in the vase starts smelling like the kind of place inhabited solely by boiled eggs, discarded big toenails and Gollum from The Lord of the Rings.
And lastly ... I don’t think women can “have it all”. I just realised this right now. How do I know? I work in the morning and that means I can’t drop my kids at kindergarten or, when the time comes, school, even though I would dearly love to. On the other hand, my friend, who stays at home with her kids, sometimes calls me in desperation just to remind herself of what a person taller than three and a half feet sounds like. There. In two simple, logical examples I have proven women can’t have it all. If that’s what “all” means. So stop asking the world’s most stupid question already.
I could go on ... but I have a party to plan. I’m inviting everyone who’s made me laugh during the last forty years. I’d better warn the neighbours.
12th August 2013
Acknowledgements
Knowing that this might be the only time I got to write one of these, I really wanted to put a lot of thought into it. Then Geordie Shore came on TV and I had to defrost a lasagne and the deadline was two hours ago so I’m just going to whack all these wonderful, inspirational, patient and helpful people in the list below.
You know what you’ve done.
And you know I think you are awesome.
Kate Cox, Pat Ingram, Danielle Teutsch, Caitin Yates, Jeanne Ryckmans, David Wilson, Andrew Gaul, Robyn Cornell, David Vodicka, Yasmin Naghavi, Kirsty Webb and Jenn Dutton.
A special thanks to my amazing parents, Pat and Garry Swan, and my spectacular sisters, Catherine and Elizabeth Swan. The gift of your company, humour and insight has been the highlight of my first 40 years.
And to my diamond. Chris Saville. Aka The Chippie. Thank you for bringing my carefree twenties to an end in the most wonderful way possible. And for making me feel good about every little thing. She loves you.
Photo: Mark Lobo
Chrissie Swan is a TV host and co-host of MIX 101.1’s breakfast show in Melbourne and The 3pm Pick-Up nationally. Follow Chrissie on Twitter @ChrissieSwan.
Chrissie Swan is personally managed by David Wilson at Watercooler Talent & Media: www.watercooler.net.au; @watercoolertwit.