You're Not The 20-Something Party Girl You Used To Be

by Lisa Webb
Originally Published: 
Three party girls with carnival masks standing together, posing and smiling

I spent my 20’s sowing my wild oats. I could have given anyone a run for his money with the fields of debauchery I planted. There wasn’t much holding back. I spent years thinking this was the time to enjoy myself because one day I’d have to settle down.

Now, in my 30’s, I have the daily responsibility of keeping two small humans alive and well. Is this when the settling down is supposed to happen?

The thing is, for the most part, I’m happy to slow things down and enjoy the Little House on the Prairie life we’ve got going on over here. But every once in a while, that wild-oat farmer inside of me creeps up like a bad case of heartburn, aching for relief. I try and shove it back into the closet, but sometimes I just want to lose the pony tail and yoga pants, put on some heels and dance on the tables in a bar where the music is far too loud.

This other personality is usually pretty easy to contain, since I know she’s not really welcome at morning coffees and playdates. I started to think maybe I was the only one who is having a hard time trying to bury their internal firecracker.

I’m not. It’s like a dirty little secret that no one talks about unless you bring it up first. And once you bring it up, you’ll find out there’s a whole world of moms out there longing to let loose.

But be careful opening Pandora’s box. When you’ve suppressed something for so long, all the wild that has built up inside you comes bursting out and it can be hard to keep control.

Let’s say that the blue moon is shining down on you and your 30-something self gets a chance to party like it’s 1999. After a few drinks you might feel like you’ve been teleported back 16 years. (Ugh, yes, it really has it been 16 years since 1999!)

Warning! You are not your old self!

Your old self would stumble off the dance floor in the wee hours of the morning to find the greasiest food imaginable and not think twice about having a 1,500 calorie bedtime snack. You’d go home and sleep it off, waking up whenever you were tired of sleeping. You’d call your friends to grab some lunch, then maybe go back home for a nap before you got ready to do it all over again.

Am I right? How did we sustain this lifestyle for so many years?

Let me tell you what the new you will look like.

You’ll lose yourself on the dance floor, shaking it like Shakira. Your tolerance is clearly much lower than it used to be.

You’ll have the time of your life because you never go out anymore, and I mean never.

You’ll return home, and even in the cloud of wine that surrounds you, you’ll know that you don’t need to be eating at this hour because it will go straight to the mommy muffin-top you’re trying to get rid of.

You’ll kick off your heels and put your foot back into a flat position on the floor, and squeal when you discover your feet feel like they’ve been subjected to ancient Chinese foot binding.

You’ll fall asleep, only to be woken up a few hours later by a tiny finger being stuck up your nose, asking for cereal, and maybe there’ll also be some tiny feet jumping on your bed—and your body. That is all the sleep you’re going to get.

You’ll crawl out of bed, wondering if something died in your mouth while you were sleeping.

You’ll feel three times your age, and you’d give anything to go back to bed, but you can’t because you have a toddler birthday party/swimming lesson/ dance recital/playdate to go to.

You’ll vow to never do this again. You’re too old for this shit.

Instead of being hungover for a couple of hours and hitting reset, it will barely be possible to function normally for the next 2–3 days.

At what age did we start to have two day hangovers? Why are our bodies betraying us like this? After all we’ve been through together, how dare they?

Aging is a cruel joke that the body plays on the mind. Just when you have a few exuberant hours of feeling like your carefree, past self, your body will promptly remind you of how very wrong you are.

That ship has sailed. That girl doesn’t live here anymore.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go take a nap.

This post was originally published on BLUNTmoms.

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