Monday, 4 September 2017


Before I had Ava I was a waster of weekends. I showed a regular and dedicated commitment to utilising my Saturday and Sunday to do nothing. Apart from go out on the lash the night before. I would then spend the following day nursing a hangover and hating my poor decisions. Snuggled deep under a duvet on the sofa in my living-room. Watching episodes of Friends and eating Papa Johns pizza. Trying to ignore the fear as I chugged from a 2 litre bottle of Irn Bru.

Oh yes. 

I was glam.

Then you have children. And going out every weekend is no longer an option. Unless you are one of those really lucky people I cannot tolerate who have an army of grandparents, aunts, uncles & teenage neighbours to babysit their offspring while they galavant around the city centre every weekend. Trying new restaurants two days after they've opened and drinking endless Gibson Martinis because they've paid Stacey from next door an extra £30 to stay the night and get up with the children in the morning.



But actually, in truth, I was relieved when Ava came along and I no longer had to pretend that I liked leaving the house to go on a night out at 11pm. I liked that I no longer had to pretend that I enjoyed chatting to neds with nice haircuts in pretentious bars that just weren't me.

 I could enjoy that a good bottle of wine, a movie and a couple of fillet steaks was my idea of a rockin Saturday night and revel in the fact that I could always get a table in my favourite restaurant because I could only ever get a babysitter on a Tuesday anyway.

I hate to sound old (actually I don't, I flipping love being in my thirties), but my weekends these days are a much more joyous affair. I love the excitement of ending the week with a take-away or a visit to the local pub for dinner. I enjoy spending my Saturdays wandering the Botanic Gardens or visiting our favourite castles. I loathe the idea of spending a Saturday indoors. I'm terrible at crafts, can't sit through a kids movie and by noon Ava and I are eying each other like one more episode of Paw Patrol and some shit is seriously gonna go down.

Now our weekends are about getting out and about. 

Getting away from the ordinary and chartering unknown territory. 

On Sundays I escape. And last Sunday was no exception. I waved Ava off to her Dads, jumped in the car and headed east for another day of exploring. Burntisland was where my finger on my big map of Scotland landed and that is where I ended up. With a good pal who was more than happy to indulge me in my love of the great outdoors, fish & chips, and the salty smell of the sea. 

I'm glad I'm not the drunk girl in the taxi queue rambling nonsense at 3am anymore. I'm happy I don't spend entire days under my duvet sipping Alkaseltzers and feeling like Pete Doherty. 

I want to see things I haven't seen before and explore castles I haven't been to before. I want to write about things I haven't felt before and get drunk in cute B&B's in tiny villages I haven't driven through before. 

I'm not saying I never want to go out on a Saturday night again. Or that I won't ever stay up drinking till 5am again. I'm not saying I won't ever venture back into a nightclub or drink tequila whilst leaning against a bar again.

But right now my weekends are about making memories. Eating pub dinners and Pringles on a Friday after a long week at work. Dragging Ava around parks and trails and forests. Exploring beaches and bridges, hidden caves and big hills.

Just now my weekends are for adventures.

And for collecting moments instead of things. 


wholelottarosie said...

I know I always leave roughly the same comment but once again, your writing is beautiful x

Dawn Young said...

And I appreciate every single comment! Thank you xxx