Choose Life

No, I'm not about to extol the virtues of Katherine Hamnett's range ethical range of 100% organic cotton T-shirts, nor do I intend to recite the similarly named poem by John Hodge, made famous by Ewan McGregor.

It's quarter of a century since that slogan adorned the chests of neon bangle wearing Wham fans. It spawned a whole new generation of 80s propaganda. Thousands of us wore oversized T-shirts bearing Frankie's command to 'relax', yet how many knew which Frankie our fashion statements alluded to? Frank Sinatra was as relevant to teenagers in the 80s, as Frankie Goes to Hollywood is to a toddler today.

Fortunately, the connotations of relaxing 'when you wanna cum' are also lost on my 13 month old nephew, recently seen sporting a 'FRANKIE SAYS RELAX' top. He's more interested in relieving the recently decorated Christmas tree of its baubles. As fast as he pulls them off, I frantically strive to rehang them. Some onlooking diners smile wistfully, others tuck into their Sunday roasts, oblivious. The landlady shuffles nervously, presumably worrying about an impending law suit. Luckily we're out of view of my sister. Given that she firmly declined my offer sharing my lamb hotpot with her son, on the grounds that it was full of salt, I don't think she'll appreciate me risking his life by allowing him to explore a pub full of tables at toddler head height.

I return him to our table, unscathed, and after a glass of wine, I'm starting to do as Frankie says. It's Sunday and I'm surrounded by the family I love. The four cousins are playing happily, my husband has offered to drive and my dad is paying for the meal. I'm enjoying spending time with my niece and nephew but, at the same time, appreciating the fact that my own two children are now past the age of teething, nappies and stairgates.

I've heard stories of parents having mid-life crises when their offspring finally leave the nest, but for me, this state of uncertainty came about sooner than expected. Unlike many mothers, I'd looked forward to the day my youngest started school. I'd spent almost 5 years preparing her for it and was confident that she was ready to adapt to her new routine. I just didn't anticipate the transition being so difficult for me.

I was so excited about my new found freedom that I failed to anticipate the predicament ahead. All of a sudden I was faced with choices again. The overwhelming mixture of fear and excitement I feel, when forced to make decisions, reminds me of the pained expression worn by the sweet-shopkeeper as he bagged up my 30p mix-ups. I liked value for money, variety and a good ratio of chocolate:chews:junk, so it was never going to be a speedy process.