Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

A friend and I were chatting today, and I told him that one of my regrets is that I didn't get out and do more before giving my life over to nappies, early nights and mornings, and ScaryParenting.com. When I look back, I seem to have spent a disproportionate amount of my twenties sitting on the sofa eating Pringles and watching America's Next Top Model (I actually have 1 year, 1 month and 1 day of my twenties left to go, but I really don't see anything happening to rectify the situation, apart from the fact that it is more likely to be MasterChef on the TV. ANTM's lost its mojo.). Surely your twenties are for going out, drinking, travelling, having intellectual discussions with fascintating strangers and having your ears blown out by festival PA systems, and I should have done more of it.

But when I really think about it, if I could go back and do these years again, how much more would I actually do? How many nights out would I have not passed on, just because they clashed with The X-Factor? How much of my spare cash would I have saved towards going to Glastonbury or on that mass outing to Prague, instead of spending it on Marks and Spencers ready-meals and cushions? How many times would I have rallied my friends to go to the pub, instead of thinking, "I just can't be bothered to move"?

The truth is, I suspect, not that many. The truth is that I am a lazy and boring person. I actually really love Pringles, sofas, and reality TV talent shows. I love comfy clothes, warm houses, and going to bed early. Which is why being a parent is BRILLIANT! All of a sudden, I don't need an excuse for my unsociable tendencies. People invite me to things, but aren't offended if I don't show up, because I have a baby. If I do go somewhere and want to leave at a pathetically early hour, it's OK, because I have a baby. And when I do go out and do something, I know it's something that matters enough to me to make the effort, and that I'll have a great time.

Now, where are those Pringles?