This weekend my partner, our 6 week old son and I went to dinner with my oldest, closest friends. It was the first time they were to meet our little man. We sat in a local restaurant, nice and cosy, dimly lit and intimate and over a few (too many) ciders we reflected on previous 9 months, on the previous 10 years, and we dare fantasise about the years to come. My partner was pacing the floor, rocking our little one to sleep, my girlfriend had disappeared to the bar – naturally we needed more drinks, leaving just 2 of us. We were discussing his new relationship, his job, life in general, when he made a passing comment that has sat with me all week.
“Remember when we were 18 and said you’d never have kids? Look at you now.”
He was right. I swore black and blue I’d never be a parent. I’d be the cool, unattached aunt. I’d dance and drink every weekend, I would party and kiss strangers. I’d meet exciting people and do exciting things. I’d travel to exotic places and get myself some culture. I’d fall in love over and over again. And god knows I tried. The three of us spent our early 20’s drunk or hungover, dancing or dying at work. Every weekend was the same. Sleep, predrinks, shots and dancing. Getting lost in alcohol, music or strangers. We spent many Friday evenings in my living room, eating Doritos and mixing deadly alcoholic concoctions, perfecting our playlist and getting absolutely hammered and we had a blast.
How the times had changed. How our goals had changed. We were three copies of the same person. Our lives were the same. Work, drink, dance, repeat. I don’t even recognise those people anymore.
I guess this truly is growing up.