Four days til I get old

This is sad. I’ve started doing fantasy shopping. I go to exclusive online maternity stores, choose a whole lot of gorgeous clothes, put them in my basket and never check out. It’s tantric consumerist porn - I get rough and ready, tease my credit card out of my purse then… withhold. I suspect I am punishing myself for being about to turn thirty-three. Bloody hell, how did I get here so fast? I’ve reached the age that Jesus was when he carked it and I'm yet to perform a miracle. Have been keeping an eye out for Romans bearing crucifixes heading intently in my direction. Not to compare myself with Christ. He had much foofier hair and far sexier sandals.

And before I alienate all Christians out there, a moment of context. I’m rambling because I’m nervous. We meet with the bowel surgeon tomorrow to find out when O’s bowel surgery is. She’s recovering well from the spinal surgery but I’m not sure if she’s ready to go back into the cutting room again. Surgery is scheduled for ten days time, so we’ll see what he says.

And just when I need them, my parents have jetted off overseas for a month. They selfishly persist in being independent. They have careers, friends, interests outside of me. What’s the point? Why have kids if you’re going to treat them like adults instead of living in their pockets, pandering to their every whim?

It drives a girl to online shopping. Maybe this time I’ll actually consummate.