The twenties, thirties and ‘hurties’ of birthdays
This year my birthday was a bit different. Not just because I am a year older.
Last year I had a baby in my tummy. This year, said baby had puked up scrambled egg all over me before 8.30am.
Happy Birthday Mummy!
I’ve had 38 birthdays. All a bit different. Many involving wine. This year the whole focus of my actual birthday was my baby. Like every other day, to be honest!
Yes I had some pressies to open, which was nice. And my lovely husband bought a birthday cake and some Champagne (score), but I spent the day like any other – at home trying to entertain Elsie. Once she was in bed, my husband and I cooked and ate a Shepherd’s pie, watched TV, had a couple of vino’s and fell asleep!
Don’t panic. I haven’t truly lost my ability to celebrate my birthday.
We went out on Saturday night with some close friends, so the occasion didn’t go unmarked. However, it got me thinking about how things change and how they don’t!
I’m about to share views from my own experience. If you had a baby in your twenties, then I’m sure your pattern will differ to this!
In your early twenties (in my day) birthdays were an epic piss up. You’d likely gather a big group of mates (you might be at university) and meet up at a prearranged bar / club at a prearranged time. We didn’t have mobile phones.
You mostly drink spirits. And likely would have had a bit to drink at home before you left, to save money.
You plan what you are going to wear.
You sing loudly.
You stay up until 4am partying hard.
You walk home to wherever you are staying. And stay in bed the next morning (if you can).
Either that, or you somehow manage to get up and do what’s necessary with a mild hangover that thankfully will be cured by a ‘fat coke’ and possibly a double decker (chocolate bar – they still sell those don’t they?)
You’ll meet up with your mates again later, and maybe even the next day (as it’s actually a birth-week). You get to celebrate all week.
Late twenties – Early thirties
You are slightly more sophisticated. You gather a more select group of friends together.
You plan which handbag you want to take out.
You’ve booked somewhere cool to go out that might involve some celebrity spotting.
You drink Prosecco or wine, maybe the odd Martini.
You still sing loudly.
You stay up beyond midnight and get a taxi home.
The next day you can feel you are not in your early twenties and only a full English breakfast will solve this bad boy hangover.
You’ll likely gather together a few of last night’s mates and go out for brunch. This will be on a Sunday as birthday parties happen on Saturdays only. School night drinking to the extreme is no good for your budding career.
You will order a Bloody Mary (virgin or non, depending on how hard-core you are) and eat either Eggs Benedict or a Full-English.
In your late thirties I am presuming you and your friends are likely to have kids. You prearrange a Saturday night and get it booked in people’s diaries well in advance. You will have to find a baby sitter. You will go to a nice gastro pub or restaurant where you have booked a table.
You wear whatever you can find without baby food or sick on that still fits.
You’ll probably arrive a few minutes later than planned due to problems settling the baby or orienting the baby sitter.
You’ll spend the first five minutes talking about the baby and the fact someone else has to look after it.
Then you’ll drink a large glass of wine, faster than you knew was possible. You are OUT.
It’s a bloody miracle. You’ve only been out three times in the past year. MAKE THE MOST OF IT. Order another bottle of wine.
You’ll have what appears to be a sophisticated evening of food, conversation and wine.
You won’t sing.
You’ll leave at a sensible hour because you need to get back for the babysitter.
There will be no lie in.
There will be a hangover.
Oh my. There will be a hangover that does NOT mix with looking after a baby. There will be no time for breakfast.
You will feel it all day, between the demands of feeding the baby, changing nappies and trying to cope with the noise.
You will try and count how much wine you actually drank. Who ordered that extra bottle? Who was filling up my glass so often I hadn’t realised? Any old excuse hey? The fact is, you can’t hack it anymore!
And hangovers and babies do not mix!
This is an interesting lesson to learn. You vow that next year you will not do it again. It just can’t be done with kids.
Next year, I’ll let you know what happens! 😉
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