Shallow and Insecure is the new Black.

Stomper baby and beloved sister. She's the bald one.

You know the odometre on the car? You know that thing when it gets to 9,999 or whatever and it does a really big rollover and it's pretty cool?

Well, my personal odometre will be ticking over this year. (Not for ages though. Months. But close enough that a few of my friends are starting to ask me what my plans are for the big day.) And that has not seemed very cool at all to me. You could really say I'm in severe denial about it actually. Which is not helped when my father says things like hmmm you're getting long in the tooth now. Or my mother (Hi Mum!) says I shouldn't have more babies because I'm too old now. (Also that financially it would be a terrible idea, which is true.) Or my chiropractor suggests that I'm middle-aged. Which, you know, technically I suppose is also true but Oh My God I got a shock when he said that.

See, the last time I really thought about my age was when I got pregnant with the Climber. Then time became this liquid concept due to culture shock, sleep deprivation, intense focussing on the small people etc. The next thing I know I've blinked and I'm about to turn f ... fo... can't say it. It's not happening.

So. People want to know. What will I do? And in an anguished way I've actually thought about this and I realised a lot of the ideas that sprang to my mind were really about denying that it was happening. For example, getting pregnant four months ago so that I could be in hospital labouring at the danger time and no-one would expect me to do a big party. Hmmm, think I've missed the boat on that one though. Or going on a little holiday to New Zealand or somewhere for that exact week. Or getting married instead on the day (my birthday is actually our anniversary anyway so I thought that was quite a good idea). But the wedding thing, as I may have mentioned previously, due to the obstinance of the Inner Princess is very much reliant on my actually receiving a bona fide proposal and the silence on that one is deafening ,

so
I
should
just
give
it
up.

(And shut up, no I won't ask him. I just won't okay.)

But I digress. I always digress in this dress.

You can see the denial writ large in the sky, can you not?

Things I am considering. Maybe hiring some swing-dance teachers and getting a mass swing lesson so that everyone gets up and boogying early in the party and people have a laugh and a dance, two of my favourite things. Some sort of fancy dress because I have never had a fancy dress party. Which surprises even me. That's as far as I got.

So. Help! Any great ideas? Anyone.

Also. Just so you know. Deep down I am quite a sensible person. So I am well aware of the following :

• The alternative to turning fo... f..ffff.. is much worse.
• I will like lots of things about it.
• I should be (and I am) grateful that I still have my health and my wonderful Fixit and boys instead of worrying about arbitrary age-lines-in-the-sand.
  
• When I turn some other mythical large number in 20 years time I will look back on this fuss and laugh at myself.

I most certainly do not want to hear the following :

• You're in great shape for your age...

What I need to hear is things like :

• Oh my God, you don't look a day over 29.
• It's the new thirty.
• There are no numbers after 29.
• You are still a hip and groovy person and no-one would ever guess.
  
• I don't believe you, you look so young.
• Oh for God's sake woman get a grip.

And not just because I tell people to say them either. Because they're really true and people really mean them.