Wednesday, 23 April 2014

I crave a different kind of buzz


Before I had Ava, I didn't really go out that much. I would sometimes sit in the pub for longer than was necessary on a school night. And I was happy to don my stilettos and the most innappropriate dress I could find and hit the clubs every so often with the girls. But in terms of 'going out', I've always been just as happy 'staying in'.

When I was 18 I was never home. The weekend would generally start in the pub on a Thursday evening and usually end with a late night chippy on the Sunday. I was a girl with a serious taste for tequila and a penchant for after parties. But a serious relationship, studies, etc all meant that I calmed down a fair bit in my mid-twenties. At the age of 27 I suddenly found myself pregnant. I couldn't really go out and get drunk any more and truthfully I didn't want to. I didn't really miss the party lifestyle that much. Unless I was around it. And so I stayed in. Ava is two and half now and I don't resent her one bit for making a social life more difficult to manage. If anything I appreciate her all the more for what she has taught me about myself. 

I have always suffered from the 'grass is greener' thing. Even though I didn't always want to go out, I always felt like I should. Like I might miss something. I remember the boys from my old home town calling it the 'Swedish cheerleader syndrome'. We lived in a small town with only a couple of pubs and they argued that the one night they decided to stay in, a bus full of beautiful, Swedish cheerleaders would break down right in this little village of ours and said cheerleaders would pour into the pub. And if they didn't go out they would miss this amazing turn of events. 

But staying in becomes a necessity when you have a little one. And I love it all. The sound of the STV News that signifies the last hour before bedtime. The baths, the bubbles and the storybooks. The tucking in, the cooking dinner and that first sip of Rioja after a day full of crayons and swingparks. I will often, enroute to kitchen or bathroom, take a detour into Ava's bedroom. I will lean against the radiator and watch her tiny chest rise and fall and I will be reminded how happy I am to have a roof over my head, food in the fridge and this amazing little creature snoozing in the room next to me. 

The death of Peaches Geldof recently reminded me of something she said in an interview once. I never really followed her but her words stuck with me at the time and it still resonates with me today. She told the interviewer that her children had saved her from a 'life of wanton wanderlust'. And I remember knowing exactly what she meant. Truthfully, I have always thought of myself as a bit of a homebody anyway. And my two main dreams in life would probably verify that. I want to write. I want more babies. I picture myself pregnant in the kitchen of a nice house, barefoot and surrounded by children. And when I eventually retire I want to keep writing. I'll move to Loch Fyne or somewhere similar. Maybe run a B&B. Live somewhere I can only do my banking through a little van that comes to the village. Spend the rest of my years listening to the sound of the water lapping against the rocks.

Hardly the dreams of a wild child are they?

Oh and to date, I don't believe a bus full of Swedish cheerleaders has ever descended on the sleepy town of Biggar ;)

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