In the months leading up to my falling pregnant with my first-born, the average Friday used to consist of knocking off work (I was working as an accounts executive for a captive insurance firm) at 5:00pm, meeting my partner at the local pub closest to work (On Fridays I used to dress in work clothes that easily converted into going out clothes with a quick shoe-swap from the stash I kept in my filing-cabinet, last minute make-up pile on and a 5-minute upstyle before knock-off time). I'd meet my partner and his work colleagues over at the pub and we'd have a couple of rounds and indulge in classic "work talk". We'd grab some dinner (albeit normally something disgusting from the Chip Van behind the pub).
From there before doing the figure-8 of pubs in our town which would eventually lead us home, stopping off for a few drinks at each and collecting more and more friends as the night progressed, until I'd have 10 pints of Guinness under my belt, and would more often than not end up back at a friend's house for yet more drinking, coupled often with guitar playing and singing on my behalf, ridiculously complex and deep conversation with friends or friends of friends, and dancing until could no longer wear my shoes... then once the light was forming in the sky (it gets light very early in the UK in the Summertime) we would eventually trudge on home, normally I would end up falling in bramble-bushes and skunning my knees and tearing my stockings trying to walk home through the fields and over the farm fences.
The next day photos would appear on various friends' Facebook pages or I'd receive photo-messages and we'd laugh and recollect the revelry we'd indulged in the night before. Normally, sporting some semblance of a hang-over (though to be fair, I rarely get a "classic" hang-over, more just feel tired all day - whereas my partner used to get wretched hang-overs and he'd resemble a bear with a sore head) we'd end up having to resort to returning to the pub in order to try and remedy the hangover with the proverbial hair of the dog. Midday drinks would lead into a mid-afternoon gathering or barbecue at ours, which would then lead everyone back to one of our locals, only to repeat the previous night's proceedings. And it was not even uncommon to repeat the practice again on a Sunday.
Tonight, I indulged in 3 glasses of wine. It's the most I've drunk in over a year, and even then, by the end of the 3rd glass I felt like it was enough. Whilst I spent the night in, it was still relatively "social" (I touched base with my nearest and dearests over the phone), it was not even boring or uneventful (I sewed some pretty funky things, enjoyed a nice meal, had a relaxing bubble bath, and am about to go to bed feeling perfectly content!)
People sometimes seem to pity the life I lead now to some extent - feeling bad that I never go out, or get to drink these days, that I'm always home with the kids... But I feel no need for pity. I chose the life I'm leading now (or it chose me... or they ie. my children chose me) and I don't think the two lifestyles can really be compared. Both have their merits. Both enjoyable. However I feel I personally gain more by the current lifestyle I'm leading than the one where I gallavanted across the countryside with a bottle of beer in one hand and my high-heels in the other... Because to have that would mean I wouldn't have my kids. And they are my greatest achievement. The best thing I have ever, ever done in my life. And definitely worth the trade :)
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