I know, that’s a strong title right there people isn’t it? No messing about with a title like that. I bet I get some disappointed hits from folk with that title, eh? Naughty me.
Anyway, this has stemmed from a conversation, well, in fact, several conversations, that Elder and I have had. It comes up every time I say I think I should dye my hair, or I go clothes shopping and drag his sorry backside along (so not very often. He hates shopping with me).
When I met Elder, I had pink and red stripped hair. I also had a penchant for holey jumpers and dresses made of silver holographic material. Not to mention fish net tights.
In my defence, I was 18, a size 8, and lived on a diet I wouldn’t recommend of B&H cigarettes and vodka, along with the odd pot noodle. Hence the size 8.
Back then, 15 years ago, I didn’t give a crap. I didn’t care if people starred at me, I didn’t care about the odd cat call or snide remark. If I liked it, or wanted to adorn my body or hair with it, I did it, or wore it, or pierced it. I had fake lip piercings, I had ear cuffs that looked like 5 holes were filled with little hoops, and two genuine holes in each ear. I even once wore an ear cuff that had a chain to my nose.
So, what happened?
I got all conservative and normal.
All I have worn for the last 14 years now is sensible jeans (basically flared jeans in the summer, skinnies in the winter), vests and t-shirts. The odd slogan top but nothing daring (like the Moschino dress I was once leant that said very, very naughty words all over it and was slightly see through).
I also sang, and danced, in public, whether there was a genuine call for me to do so or not. I would sing down the street with friends. I would dance across the grass of the gardens I hung round in. I danced in goth clubs were jumping was the preferred medium. I went in for talent shows for a giggle (and won).
I loved any excuse to show off.
Now, unless I am very, very drunk, or in the case of this weekend, have headphones on whilst cooking (in our house, you can have Mini with one stereo on, Liittlest with the TV on, Elder with his record deck on, so if want to listen to my music, I plug headphones in), I don’t sing in public, let alone dance (although Mini prefers this, if I dared move for two minutes at the disco in the Mum’s bit she went crackers).
I used to love singing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no recording artist talent but I can hold a tune.
I think, as we get older, and I’m not that old anyway, we just disappear into being a Mum. Into a role, which I don’t begrudge but I do feel I have lost who I am at the heart of me.
Hence why I suggested we become pussies as we get older. But who are we scared of embarrassing?
I am scared of being that Mum. That one who the other Mums talk about due to their mad dress sense and punk hair.
I am scared of embarrassing my children, as we know kids can be bloody rotten to other kids and I don’t wish to do something or dress a certain way just to please me that ends up causing them misery.
I haven’t started dressing like a Granny, I feel that is far off in the future, but it’s all become a bit boring and I don’t let loose anymore.
Am I the only one? I don’t suggest I should still walk around with holographic dresses on or with madly coloured pink and red hair. But I don’t know why I have become someone scared to go out and dance or shy of singing or having fun.
I think a change needs to happen. I’m planning that at the next opportunity I get when the Brats are at an Aunts house, Elder and I shall go to a Karaoke night and I am damn well going to not hide and I’m not going to have to drink two bottles of wine to get up and join in.
Have you become a wuss? What do you miss of the good old days before you worried about what the neighbours/kids/teachers said or thought?
Let me know!