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Post Partum Piss Up

I went to a party on Saturday night.  Yes a party!  I stayed at a hotel and everything.  It was a proper grown up party although I quite obviously behaved like a teenager. Now most sensible adults would have a few drinks, a bit of a boogie on the dance floor and leave at a sensible hour so as to enjoy the hotel breakfast in the morning before picking the children up.  I'm not sensible. I peak far too early.  On route in the car I'm downing cans of G&T - I think the young people call this pre-drinks.  Once ready I'm practically running to the venue.  I can barely contain my excitement at the prospect of an adult night out!  Of course I forget that the children are a mere 24hrs away.  I'm on the dance floor by 9pm where I stay until 1.30am.  I'm wearing my one and only pair of designer shoes (I haven't been brave enough to look at them yet), I'm sure designer shoes aren't meant for excessive dancing especially with my post partum excess weight.  I
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Who puts the pressure on?

"I love it.   I feel like I've got the perfect work: life balance!", I smugly told my friends.   I further gloated with "enough family time and time to myself, I feel like I've got my life back and I'm finally able to focus on my own career".   At the time I had one child starting school. Fast forward to two children later and I feel like a woman struggling under the pressure of the need to be a 1950's housewife ( desperately trying to keep house) a 20th century earth mother (having a diet of organic quinoa and being a regular at baby sensory/massage) as well as being a yummy mummy (a gym bunny as appose to washed out old hare).   None of these I achieve, except the old hare part. Most days I rock up at the school gates with a child that looks like she's been dragged through a hedge backwards and who has a bag of old crumpled paper, no drink, no snack, no coat, what she does have is a toothbrush with toothpaste embedded in (so that she
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