When it recently occurred to me how long it had been since I danced so hard that my legs were sore the next day, I was sad. At first I was sad because it'll be quite some time till I can even pretend to entertain that possibility. And then I became sad because I realized that maybe I don't want to go do that as much as I think I do.
During my still going out days, I remember other mothers saying they didn't do that sort of thing since they became moms, and I was mad at them for blaming their children for their lack of spunk. I'm still mad that they blame their kids. Chances are it wasn't motherhood as much as age.
I don't particularly want to stay up that late anymore. I would rather spend my free hours surrounded by people I love. My Friday nights don't need to end in a big tab and minor hang over. I am happy to spend them around a bonfire with an equal mix of friends and family, with a dozen kids wrecking havoc and toasting marshmallows. It feels like a damn fine way to spend a Friday.
And if the next morning follows with donuts, bacon, and coffee, how could the weekend go wrong? It makes it a lot easier to not get too jealous when your best friend texts you to say she had the best old man chat over at one of the world's most perfect dive bars