I’m not saying I miss the wild nights out of old, you remember the ones?! Dancing til 2am in clubs with floors so sticky shoe soles were lost (this actually happened in Glasgow’s delightful 80’s establishment Reflex) and drinking cocktails and shots with nary a care in the world. My hangovers would last for the full next day, spooning my bestie, watching shite tv and fuelled by takeaway, fizzy haribo and glass bottles of Irn Bru. Actually that bit sounds pretty nice about now.
These days the closest to hitting the dance floor I get is a shimmy around the kitchen cooking dinner in my pjs trying to make H laugh. My moves are so truely Mum-esque that he invariably does and rightly so. 21 year old me would die of embarrassment at the sight of me shaking my ass and singing along to Spotifys Throwback playlist. Which by the way is an absolute belter and I highly recommend you track down.
I was always told the party ends when babies come along, and of course there won’t be any 2 day wild benders any more, but I don’t feel or believe that being a parent means you can’t still let your hair down and have fun. It just means a little less time on the dance floor and a few more nights in.
So while I’m not quite ready to throw caution to the wind, chuck on some glitter and venture back out to my old haunts for a few cocktails with the girls…there is still a bit of the party girl in me that will never fade and she may just make a reappearance in the near future!