I’m 30 years old – and I still snuggle with my mum.
My family aren’t sure if they want me to write this and I don’t exactly blame them. I’m acutely aware that I’m exposing myself to potential abuse.
But I’ve never been one to kowtow to taunts. I’m happy to reveal that I am a fully-grown, 30-year-old woman who thoroughly enjoys a snuggle with her mum in bed. Most evenings, in fact.
Allow me to digress a little, before I further regress.
Despite the what I’ve just told you, I’m a fully functioning adult. I have a job, I have a degree. I live within my means and I pay my bills. Anyone that knows me will tell you I’m a pleasant and chatty sort of a girl.
But recently the wheels have come off my very adult life. At the age of 30, I’ve decided to have a complete career change – and so, while I get back on my feet financially, I’ve had to hunker down in the parental bunker.
If you’re into symbolism, right now my own personal doomsday clock is poised somewhere between two and three minutes to midnight. However regrettably for me, threats of a potential adulthood apocalypse don’t stop there.
Come sundown, after the family meal has been digested and the subsequent binge viewing of the ABC has drawn to a close, I retire to bed. But not my own bed.
My parents’ bed.
I slide in between my parents and snuggle down among the soft pillows and Egyptian cotton sheets - yet another benefit of lodging with folk who have access to significant superannuation funds. Then, I roll over and snuggle my Mum.
I'll spare you the details of who is the big and who is the little spoon. But you get the picture.
After a few minutes, the reality of the three-in-a-bed situation begins to annoy my dad.
He begins to huff and puff, before tossing and turning like a rotisserie chook, and tugging irritably at the bed sheets.
It soon results in an outburst from Dad, aimed at my Mum, in which he exclaims, “Jill you’re an enabler!”
It's an instant mood killer. At this point, I retreat, with my blankey between my legs - ha!