I bet right now there are heaps of mums reminiscing about what they used to be doing on a Saturday night before they had kids.
But before they can get too carried away, they have to do the dishes, get bottles mixed up, pump some breast milk, or try not drink too much so their babies don’t pass out for an entire day after breastfeeding.
Or there is washing to fold, and a shitload of toys outside in the rain that you forgot to bring in, and a potty to empty.
Most of this is easy to ignore unless you have scheduled visitors arriving in the morning. In this case you would have already locked your children in a corner for the past few hours and bribed them to eat anything they dropped on the floor.
But maybe that’s just me. Thankfully I’ve been that slack with my communications since I’ve had three kids, that we very rarely have drop-in visitors. Or maybe that is a bad thing?
Anyhow, back to what we used to do on a Saturday night.
It’s just past 9pm and in the real world we’d barely be catching a cab out, well that was what it was like when the Husband I lived in Sydney in the mid-to-late 2000s.
How cool is it being able to say, in the mid 2000s?!
I’ll skip forward a few hours, past Kings Cross, Oxford Street, I can’t remember where, maybe Darling Harbour, until about 4 or 5am when we grabbed some nasty takeaways and ventured home to sleep until 1pm or so.
Then we’d arise and have no one to worry about except ourselves for the rest of day, or in our case, the rest of the evening.
I used to be known for eating three breakfasts after a mcmassive huge night out.
These days I’m known for being able to prepare a breakfast for three, oh the irony.
It’s not like I want to change where I am now, it’s just that I think we all take for granted where we were at when we were at it!
Okay, so it’s past 9pm and I have three meals to cook before 7am so I had better rest up!