Are we calling it a night on girls' night?

Note: This blog post pairs nicely with Charli xcx's "I Think about it All the Time"

I already feel nostalgic for a time that hasn't yet fully passed, but I am all too aware that it is slipping by far too quickly. There was once a time when the girls and I had nothing else to do but get dressed up and go out. But we get older, and life doesn't revolve around you and the girls anymore.

Not too long ago, I went with my friend to see a scan of her unborn baby. It was beautiful and sublime. And I was surprised by how little I understood about pregnancy and my own body and what it's capable of, or that the yolk-sac is the reason you throw up when you're pregnant, or that you can tell which ovary the egg came from. And I was confronted with how different my season of life was to hers. I was so excited for her, but selfishly sad for me because what about those silly nights when we got dolled up to eat out at a restaurant we could barely afford? What about bar hopping to see which place had the best martini? What about making pizza together in the kitchen and singing aloud to our favourite songs at 2 a.m.? Owning the dancefloor? Beach trips with the girls? Spontaneous "hey-are-you-free-tonight?" texts?

I wonder which parts of me I will have to sacrifice in order to know those parts of me, to experience the parts of womanhood that come with having a baby? Do I retire my sequin mini skirt and donate my kitten heels for mom jeans and house slippers? Or can I be both? Has the world just made me believe I can't have a drink with the girls on a Friday night once I'm a mum, or is it mum guilt that has already embedded itself into me, telling me I won't be able to enjoy a night with the girls because I should always be with the kids? And shouldn't I want to be with my kids? Maybe that's all I'll want to do. Who knows ... I suppose I will once I get there, but that's exactly the point: I'm not there. But people I once shared a dance floor with are beckoning a taxi; it's time to call it a night on girls' night.

What if I am the only one left dancing? What if I never want to stop? Or do I take the taxi home with them and accept it's time to move on? Is there a world where I can keep dancing and still find common ground with those who have decided to stop? I guess, what it boils down to is that I am afraid of losing those I love to a lifestyle I cannot yet bring myself to live. And will they resent me for it? Or will I resent them? Will they begin to think, "She just doesn't understand..." These are questions that run through my head, and I feel guilty for having them.

And the truth is I could never fully understand until I myself have a kid. IF I have a kid.

I always felt sad, despite being so excited, when a friend would say, "We're pregnant!" because I knew they would always be them, but they would also be so different. Change is actually really scary, especially a change like that. And I worried what my place would be in their life once a kid came along. Admittedly, I do not know much about having or raising kids, and I don't exactly fantasize about it. But, the more you really, rationally think about it, you realise a friend is still a friend even when they become a mum. She's still just a girl, the same one who danced with me until dawn; the same one who spent many nights laughing with me over silly stuff and crying over breakups. Does a girls' night end just because there's no club or dancefloor? We can dance in the playroom with kids on our hips. We can have a glass of wine mid-day during their naptime if we wish. We can get dressed up to go nowhere, and we can still have our girls' trips. I know life will be different, and I expect our friendships to change, but they don't have to end just because we are in different seasons.

And maybe there will be moments when our schedules don't align, when it's clear we have different priorities. And I'll learn, mostly through trial and error (and Instagram reels), how to be there for a friend when she enters a season I myself have no experience with. There's a part of me that hopes one day I'll want that season, but there's a part of me that knows it's okay if I don't.

This feels far too vulnerable to confess, but I've heard similar sentiments from many women. I hope it doesn't sound too terrible of me to admit all of this, and if it does, blame Charli xcx -- she admitted it before I ever did.