Goodbye stupid fun
It’s depressing to realise that my wild years are over.
I went out on Saturday night and didn’t even make it to dessert. The day that sleep beats molten chocolate lava pudding is a grave one.
The knock-on realisation is that I have to stick to my routine. If I stay up too late, drink too much, or even eat too much of the wrong thing, I am screwed the next day.
This motherhood thing is a marathon. An 18 year endurance race involving Herculean amounts of cleaning, trips to Coles, and laundry.
I feel significantly less fun. I am so tired all the time that I struggle to even get jokes, let alone come up with punchlines. I can’t imagine a scenario where I will ever a) sing karaoke, b) dance in a night club, or c) wake up after midday ever again.
My brain is crowded with a ‘To Do’ list that runs from here to ’til death, that bittersweet day when I will finally get some sleep but I’ll be too dead to enjoy it.
How do women keep this up? Is everyone secretly slogging wine in their drink bottles? Or popping amphetamines like the suburban edit of Requiem for a Dream? Where can a lady get a Bex and a lie down in this day and age?