My oldest friends and I have children of roughly the same age and we live within 50 miles of each other which is lovely. We have done the playdates at our respective houses where we lovingly watch our children form (what we hope to be) lifelong bonds whilst we referee squabbles over who gets to be Elsa this week or who is in charge of the suddenly prized possession which has, up until this point, been resolutely ignored since it's purchase six months ago.
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| A Dynamic Duo |
We have done the farm visitsvisits we try to endear ourselves to the other's offspring with animated questions about life in the nursery yard, while one of us dashes to rescue their youngest who finds themselves inexplicably taunting some unwitting livestock.
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| Offspring become interchangeable |
We have done the outings to parks in the bitter, and often brutal, Scottish weather where we stand, hands firmly in pockets, scarfs up to the eyeballs, tracking our respective progeny whilst exchanging snatches of key inquiries and information that we tick off our to do list like the efficient mothers we aim to be, onky stopping to intermittently bark reprimands for the toddlers' utter inability to sense danger.
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| Burning Rubber |
Well enough is enough. We are mounting a revolt. We are meeting up child free.
This will not be the first time we have broken free from the shackles of motherhood and returned to the frivolous girls of our youth but the strategic planning and extensive negotiations required to make it happen means that we can only cobble together enough time to secure two lunches six months apart. Still, on the plus side, the novelty means that the frission of excitement is currently building up like a toddler's emotions on Christmas Eve, although hopefully with fewer tears and less pant wetting.
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| The taste of freedom |
I adore my children, I really do. I frequently worry that I will be consumed with so much love one day that I might actually squeeze them until they pop (although knowing my son, it would more than likely end in a poop) but the mere sniff of a few hours of just being me the person, not the mother, with some of those who know me best is really quite intoxicating. I imagine sipping colourful cocktails as we reminisce about wilder times and acquaintances of old, before the conversation naturally moves on to animated discussions about our proposed new adventures. The delightful mix of fun, excitement and alcohol will render jubilant but merely on the edge of giddiness.
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| Wild eyed |
What will actually happen is that we will meet harassed from our morning of parenting, likely having to have literally shaken a small child from our person as we battled to get out of the door in time for our train. We shall hug and greet each other like it has been six months since we saw each other last, sit down and discuss our children at length whilst downing prosecco like we are going to be called to help the toddler toilet at any given moment. Then we shall realise that we do not have the capacity we once did for alcohol, find ourselves horribly drunk and realise that we still have to parent in the morning.
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| It doesn't take much |
Still, at least it'll be six months until the next hangover.
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