Another year older


I’m now no longer in my thirties. Roberto did all he could yesterday to pamper and spoil me and take my mind off the fact. Trying to cope with turning thirty doesn’t feel that long ago, yet a decade has since passed.

It’s also been difficult not to think about the pregnancy I miscarried last year. The due date was my birthday and, at the time, I thought it would be the most perfect birthday present I could have. I thought turning forty maybe wouldn’t feel so bad if I was cuddling (or about to) a new baby in my arms.

Life begins at forty – so all my forty-year-old friends say. I’m taking that to mean not to look back on my past years with regrets or as little sorrow as possible, but focus on a hopeful future. My life really does need to start again with me feeling positive and happy, and there’s no better time to do it.

Here’s to all you other forty-somethings out there!

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