When I'm 65...

When we were celebrating Mr B's mum's 65th birthday at the beginning of the month, I got to wondering about how she might've thought her life would be when she was 65.

Y'know, when she was younger, did she think that by the time she was 65 both her sons would be married?

I would imagine that she probably thought that, by the time she was 65 and her hubby was 68, they'd be grandparents. That there'd be a whole new generation of Burnhams around.

I think it's safe to say she would've expected there to be more than 5 of us sat round a table for her celebratory meal.

Then I got to thinking what Mr B thought his life would've been like by the time he was 40? Did he think he'd have a couple of children? Maybe a dog, or a hamster, running around? Did he think he'd be an uncle?

I always thought that Mr B would be a dad by the time he was 40. Or, at the very least, that I'd be pregnant. And, by default, his mum would've had a grandchild by the time she was 65.

And I can't help feeling, sometimes, like I've let them down.

I often wonder whether Mr B's parents think he could've done better for himself. Someone closer to his own age, and not so much younger. Someone with a better job and more ambition. Someone with a fully operational reproductive system.

But tough, Mr and Mrs B Snr - he got me! And we're married now, so you're stuck with me! Ha!