Momentous occasion, apparently.
It didn't seem momentous though. Nothing cataclysmic happened. I didn't suddenly feel different. I felt exactly the same as I had the day before, and the day before that. Probably because I've been a grumpy old fart for some time now. Considering that in the last 18 months my sister died, my mum died, my dad could've died (broken hip and surgery, aged 91), and I could've died (burst appendix, infection, etc), I was just glad to wake up on the day and breathe. Unassisted.
The day was no more, and no less, than what I wanted. It was exactly right. Perfect, in fact. A quiet day at home, with dinner at one of our favourite beachside pubs. The Husband, the kids, and ten close friends were with me to celebrate being alive. In the warm stillness of a magnificent spring evening, we stood and chatted, drinking wine and eating dips and bruschetta, while we watched the sun turn the sky orange as it set over the water. We then sat down to some lovely food, more wine, more chatter, and laughter. So much laughter. I'm not sure I even remember everything we talked about. The wine flowed as freely as the conversation, so it's not surprising. I know my boobs were quite popular; hot flushes were a topic, as were family gossip, baby news, sport and holidays; birthday parties and New Year's Eve plans were discussed; and I vaguely remember telling everyone the Rolling Stones would be joining us after dinner to entertain us. I don't think I fooled anyone, as they hadn't drunk enough at that stage. I'm having flashbacks of standing in a suburban street at the end of the night, hugging and kissing one of my oldest friends, marvelling at the fact we've known each other 37 years. I think "37 YEARS!" was yelled with incredulity several times. Miraculously, we all managed to walk steadily out of the pub at closing time, and all of my flowers and gifts made it home intact. Just don't ask me how my citrus flavoured Chapstick ended up in the men's urinal at the pub. That's a story best left untold.
Anyway, the only difference to my life since turning 50 is that I now end many of my sentences with "coz I'm 50".
Where once I may have said, "coz I'm grumpy", "coz I'm hormonal", "coz I ate too much", "coz I feel like it", "coz I said so", "coz I'm fat", "coz I drank too much", or "coz nobody will know", I am now finding "coz I'm 50" covers most situations.
"I need to pee."
"Didn't you just go?"
"Yes, but I need to go again COZ I'M 50."
"Let's use the elevator."
"There's not many steps, you can make it."
"No I fucking can't, COZ I'M 50."
"I'm so tired."
"I thought you said you had a good night's sleep."
"I did, but I need even more COZ I'M 50."
"I feel sick."
"You shouldn't have eaten all that chocolate."
"Idiot, it's not because of that, it's COZ I'M 50."
"Mum, stop singing."
*sings even louder and throws in some dance moves*
"COZ I'M 50!"
*puts on track suit pants*
"I thought we were going somewhere today?"
"We were, but I've been out for 3 out of the last 4 nights and it's all rather exhausting, so I can't be bothered even putting make-up on and doing my hair, let alone choose a decent outfit, put shoes on, and leave the house, then possibly have to smile and speak to people, because today I think I really, truly would hate all of the people and possibly want to stab them, COZ I'M 50."
And then there's this.
Testing my poop.
Coz I'm 50.