Monday, 15 August 2011

R is for Rebecca

I'm not sure if they did it on purpose, but I think that my parents gave me a very sensible name.
A transitional name, perhaps.
One that can change with age.
Shortened to Becky as a child.
Everyone still calls me Becky - I'm in touch with my youth y'know.
But to think of myself as a Granny one day, Becky doesn't seem to fit.
I always imagine being old and people not calling me Becky anymore.
No, when I'm old and grey people will call me by my birth certificate name.

A few days ago, I was pushing the boy I nanny for in a swing and casually chatting with the woman stood next to me who was also pushing a little one in a swing and before I even knew what I was saying, I told the woman that my name was Rebecca.
I didn't even consciously make the decision to introduce myself as Rebecca, but it happened.
And then a very scary thought washed over me, that still makes me shudder to recall.
I'm becoming a grown up.
I pay bills, own a car, cook my own dinner, wash my own clothes and do a plethora of other grown up activities.
When did this happen?
Because I swear in my head I'm still only 15 years old.

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