At the grand old age of 32 I am now older than one of my best friends when she died.
When Vic was 31 she was fighting the bravest of battles against lung cancer. A battle she lost some seven months short of her 32nd in 2013.
By contrast I spent most of my 31st year pregnant with my much-longed for first child (my little Sonny Jim.)
And today I’m celebrating my 32nd – a year my darling girl Vic never reached – with my 4-month-old boy – a little lad she would have loved so much.
There’s a saying that getting old is a privilege denied to many – and it’s true. So today, rather than moan that I’m getting old, that I’m getting wrinkles, that the baby woke me up at 4am, I’m counting my blessings with my Sonny Jim giggling on my lap.
Happy birthday to me.