It’s been a really long time since I’ve had anything resembling a blowout. I don’t even know these days what would constitute a blowout. Pre-children, I would have the odd big night out – drink too much, dance too much, sing too loud, stagger home in the wee hours and collapse into bed for as long as I needed to be there. The following day would involve doing as little as I wanted. Generally, lots of cups of tea, a greasy pie for lunch, and a day spent lounging around feeling bit worse for wear. Great fun. Totally worth the suffering the day after.
Nowadays, I’d probably make it to two drinks, 10pm and a couple of dances before I started to count the number of hours of sleep I was sacrificing. Sad. But truly, to really enjoy a blowout, I would need someone to take full responsibility for all three children for the night of the outing and for at least the entire day following. Gone are the days when I would roll out of bed after a night of drinking and only a couple of hours of sleep and manage to work eight hours with only a steak and cheese pie to get me through. Although actually, I do reasonably often roll out of bed after only a couple of hours of sleep…just for vastly different reasons.
I don’t even know if I’d like a big night of drinking anymore anyway. I haven’t done it for so long that it seems really odd to drink to the point of drunkeness. I do like the idea of relaxing with a nice glass of wine or two but that’s about it. Mind you, given that I’ve been either pregnant or breastfeeding for the most part of six years, drinking to the point of drunkeness and enjoying a couple of quiet wines is most likely the same thing.
Maybe I need to test the theory…Now, who wants the kids for a couple of days?