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We had rather a good-looking guest stay at the hotel where I work the other night. A young man in his early twenties with floppy, dirty blonde hair, (a bit like Prince William before he started loosing his) a tan that you know he got from either a slope or a beach… no bottled products here thank you very much and one of those deep voices with a ‘proper’ English accent. Very Hugh Grant-ish from Four Weddings. Even my friend and work mate for the evening was a bit smitten.

Later than evening I was telling my husband about this chap and said jokingly

“Ha ha… I am old enough to be his mother.”

Hold on a damn minute, I am old enough to be his mother! When the hell did that happen?

Jay and I married young. I was just twenty and he was two days shy of his twenty-first birthday on our wedding day. Our intention was to have our family while we were still in our early twenties, in fact if our first pregnancy had not miscarried we would have a car driving teenager in the house now. (Gulp.)

With miscarriages and failed fertility treatments we were married nineteen years before we became parents with our adopted our girls.  I guess in that time because we were not involved with the many stages and milestones of children, the years slipped by without us really clocking them and now I find both my twenties and thirties have ticked away. Not that I regret any of it and wish to turn back time. Every step we have taken has led us here to this stunning part of Scotland and our two beautiful girls.

But still, old enough to be his mother? It is a bit of a shock.

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