What an honour to be a woman…to give birth, breastfeed, emotionally yoyo, nurture, intuit.
We also have a massive range of styles and looks to mix and match: the pretty little thing, the ‘tom boy’, the – oversized boyfriend’s garments – look, the red, blaring siren.
Talking about red. I had a tsunami of that this morning. I mean, will my body ever stop taking me by surprise?It seems that as soon as I adapt to new body shape, breast size, energy levels, sexual preferences, hair thickness, length, texture, colour…it melds into something Other.
So can you imagine?
After padding myself to survive racing through traffic to drop child and onto work for 90 mins, blaring tragic heroines like Amy Winehouse and planning some suitably appropriate proper heavy eyeliner in line with my mood…I pop into the toilet to be…
I mean I was embarrassed and I was alone.
But the show must go on. Right?
A few minutes later, I’m prancing round 30 pre pubescent…spouting authority, maternal, literariness and whatever senior leaders expect of me.
Lethargic, worn out in agonising pain, popping pain killers… It’s what We do.
You can understand why some forward thinkers have given Women flexy time to deal.
Flexy time or not.. we just have to deal.