I’ve handed my baby over to a friend.

I have chosen my friend for the job because she has worked in this area for years and knows what’s what. She is also honest and I rate her. That is worth its weight in gold.

She, for her part, has promised to treat my ‘change of life baby’, as she cutely refers to it, with kindness and respect. Like the excellent friend she is, she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.

She thought my baby was my cunning plan to ditch the forty hour working week and slip into semi-retirement. I have assured  her that this is not the case. My escape route is much more boring than this. It’s a matter of reducing debt and living more simply to have more time to do other stuff.

And that other stuff includes creating another baby*, because  regardless of whether my first effort has potential or not, I derive great pleasure from doing it.

I also want to go back to uni and do my MA in History. There, I’ve said it! I’ve even got my thesis topic sorted.

Now this isn’t the first time I have enrolled in a Masters. The first time the degree was related to my profession. I did this because I thought it would be good for my career. And it possibly would have been, but after one paper I decided that it was not what I really wanted to do. It failed to inspire me. I mothballed it.

Studying for an MA in History is another story altogether. It excites me. And it will feed my soul. I can think of no better reason to do it.

Semi-retirement can’t come soon enough. I have so much I want to do.

*Please note: the baby is a metaphorical term only. Although now possible to have babies well into old age with the help of science, it is certainly not on my ‘to do’ list!