WHEN I was in my late teens and early 20s I remember that NEED to go out drinking and dancing with my friends. It served me on the same level as water and oxygen.
Back then, as I sported my denim waistcoat, skinny eyebrows and gravity-defying breasts, I used to look at women in their 30s and 40s and question why they were out on the town.
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I used to think that their time to dance until their feet were numb, laugh until they doubled over and drink shots of curdling combinations had passed. Why weren’t they at home with their families, I wondered.
I wish I could go back and shake my 19-year-old self. I wish I could explain that I would still be the same person at 30 and at 40 – albeit maybe not so fun-loving and carefree all the time.
Back then I’d just had Finnbar but, despite my responsibilities, I was determined to find a balance that would allow me to nurture my baby and keep up my old friendships with those who hadn’t become mums yet.
I did not want to dissolve purely into being someone’s mum. And even now, as a mum of four and in my 30s, I still have the urge to go out with my best mates.
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I need to go out and dance and belly-laugh and be me. It is a loud, R&B-dancing, fake-eyelash-wearing form of self-care.
The only tricky part is deciding what to wear – I’m probably too old for Love Island chic but too young for BHS-style “pottering around the garden” attire. And it’s hard to find something in between.
Obviously, the mornings after the night before are not quite as they once were either. They are usually spent lying down with bleary eyes and achy feet, to a soundtrack of Peppa Pig.
But I strongly believe that keeping my sense of self has helped – and still does help – me to be a better mum, and that my adventures and achievements both with and without my children are important.
Although the craving to go out, or the fear of missing out, is not as strong as it once was come the weekend, I now see the women I used to sneer at with fresh eyes. I am now them.
So next time you see a group of mums on the loose, bear in mind they need that night out just as much as the young’uns. It is mental health maintenance – and a necessity so that we can continue to be “just a mum” (that annoying phrase).
When I think of all the parts of me and the hats I wear to be “just a mum” I realise why sometimes I need to focus on my first role. The role that gives me the strength and humour to be all the others – being Peta Louise Todd (Peta, like the boy’s name, but with an A), my full title.
