It’s my birthday soon. I turn 41 next Sunday, which means I can now officially be categorised as ‘in my 40s’ rather than clinging on to the whole I’ve-just-turned-40 schtick I’ve been using for the past 12 months.
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I text David to tell him I’m so nervous about moving and marrying him that I wake at 4am every day, stomach churning. Even the dogs are still snoring. I’ve never been vulnerable like this with him before. I have always put on a brave face, leaving him to read about my insecurities later. But he surprises me by being incredibly supportive.