We don’t seem to be able to find the time to see each other that much these days. We used to spend Saturdays mooching round the shops, and evenings hitting the bars and getting drunk. They were good times. But things have changed. I have these 2 little people that have sort of invaded and taken over my life. So I just wanted to say sorry for being a bit, well crap, at arranging to see you.
We operate in different time zones at the moment. Sometimes we may as well be in different countries. I know evenings after work is good for you, but early evening for me is all about splashing in the tub, snuggling down for stories, and packing school bags ready for the next day. By the time that’s done and I’ve had some dinner and an uninterrupted conversation with the husband I’m pretty much ready for my bed. I know, rock n’ roll right. My night ends as your night begins. For me, staying in, is the new going out. And if staying in involves PJ’s and a bit of TV, then I’m in heaven.
Saturday mornings are good for us. Somewhere between the babies nap and lunch time. But I know that’s when you’ll be getting up and having a lazy breakfast in your PJ’s and assessing how bad your hangover is. I hope it’s one that can be cured with a Maccy D’s and trash TV.
I love that you include my little people in your invites, and whilst I would really love to meet you in town one Saturday for a spot of shopping and some lunch, my kids wouldn’t. The don’t really appreciate the fine art of browsing. Especially clothes. Clothes to them are purely practical. Practical equals boring. There are some days they actually think them highly impracticable, and would rather walk about the house in their pants. Changing rooms do not accommodate buggy’s at all well. We will spend half the trip waiting for lifts as we can’t use the escalators, and with each shop entered wingeing and whining increases. The whole experience could potentially leave you hating all kids.
Let’s do the shopping trip just you and me, like old times. Except I’m not really sure what’s ‘in’ right now. The ‘new’ me doesn’t really do dresses much nowadays. No one at Rhyme Time wants to see me flash my knickers whilst I’m crawling around after the baby. And I think I have actually lost the ability to walk in heels even though I put in years of practice. I could do with a new jumper though.
I would invite you to accompany us to soft play, but I like you and I wouldn’t wish that hell on my worst enemy.
And then there are the invites to come over to your house. Your lovely beautiful minimalist house. I too once had a house like that, before the invasion of little people and the colourful plastic paraphernalia that they come with. As much as I think my children are funny, entertaining and (mostly) well behaved, they are still after all children. The big one is currently suffering with delusions of superheros. He genuinely believes he is Batman. This means he doesn’t walk anywhere. He runs. Full speed. With his arm outstretched like he is flying. Things like furniture don’t seem to bother him. He full on tackles them and crashes to the ground with dramatic sound effects. I know you are horrified, but I can assure you it’s perfectly normal behaviour for a boy who is five. Even if I made him promise not to be a superhero at your house (and it would take some monumental bribery – yes I do that) he is still very bouncy. He’s kind of like the Duracell bunny on speed. He never sits still. He’s also nosy, and if I turn my back for a second he’ll be routing through your drawers and asking some potentially awkward questions. As for the baby, well he’s going to dribble all over your furniture, and if the big one doesn’t spill his drink on your beautiful cream rug, the baby will be sick on it. And even though they will both be immaculately clean when I bring them round, they will still leave finger prints all over your glass coffee table and french doors. In other words without even trying, they will destroy your house with their innocent curiosity.
You are more than welcome to come to our house. There are a few things I should warn you about. Firstly excuse the ‘mess’. Secondly if you are stopping for lunch I would advise you don’t sit next to the baby. He has a pretty good aim. Thirdly, it’s pretty loud at our house, the baby’s toys all sing songs and the big one doesn’t stop talking. Ever. And lastly you will more than likely at some point be commandeered to build Lego.
I am really up for that night out with you. Just be aware that after three drinks I’ll be parading my phone round the bar showing pictures of my kids to everyone who isn’t interested. After four drinks I’ll probably be singing Karaoke to Tiffany (even if there is no karaoke) and by 11:00 I’ll be curled up in a corner somewhere, snoring. It would be fun, it just probably won’t be very pretty! I can confidently say that the next day I will suffer more than you. Remember that Duracell bunny I mentioned? Yeah him, he doesn’t understand ‘hangover’.
Please forgive me if it takes me 12 hours to respond to your message. It’s just that when you text me I was mid nappy change, then we had to do the school run, then it was tea time and well, by the time all that happened, I forgot. Then I got a text from another friend and I remembered I hadn’t got back to you. Which reminds me I must get back to her.
I’ve swapped late nights for early mornings (very early mornings). Shopping days are now park days or family movie days. Nice restaurants are now family
tolerant friendly cafes. I love it. I am very happy. I know plenty of people who say having children won’t change anything. But for me it changed everything, it changed me. Fundamentally I am still the same person, I would do almost anything for chocolate and I am Gerard Butler’s number one fan. But my world revolves around my two little people. That means that honestly and selfishly I have less time for my friends.
I miss you. And I know this change in dynamic is all my doing. I am absolutely here for you if you need anything. Anything at all. I still love you to bits. It’s just that socially the nights out won’t be as often and may end a little earlier than they used to!
It’s not you. It’s me.
Lot’s of love