via cheesewearingtheology.com

It’s no secret that I have always been a serious sufferer of FOMO (or fear or missing out). I can’t say no to an invitation, even when I have other things to do, and I’m often the last to leave, even when the wine has run out and everything’s going downhill fast.

When I was first in a DIDO relationship, one of the things I found hardest was the thought of a long empty weekend stretching in front of me with nothing to do. In fact a lot of difficulties in our relationship have revolved around my extroverted personality versus Mr Miner’s introvert tendencies, but now things seem to be changing.

Since the creation of Peg (the part-person, part-egg, currently residing in my belly), I’ve had a sudden revelation. I can’t believe I’m about to stay this, but I love staying in!

Of course at first I wanted to stay in because in those first few weeks of nausea and overwhelming exhaustion (seriously, of all the things to do with pregnancy nobody warns just how exhausting that is), anything harder than clicking the remote control from the sofa felt like it would destroy me.

Now though, I am just happy to stay at home all weekend pottering. Maybe it’s a form of nesting or maybe it’s because I can’t hit the vodka shots on a Friday night, but I’m just not interested in going out. And I don’t want to sound all smug and pious, but waking up on a Saturday morning with a clear head and no regrets is a pretty good feeling – who knew you can get so much done in a weekend?!?

I am not saying I don’t still crave a glass of red on a Friday night and I may have had a couple of very small spritzers… (and maybe one Pimms) in the last couple of months, but there has been a definite change  in the way I choose to spend my spare time.

I know you shouldn’t have to have alcohol to have a good time, and maybe it’s the realisation that drunk people are boring/annoying (myself included), but I just don’t want to go out in the evening for anything more than a quiet dinner or cinema date.

I don’t want to be one of those people who never go out and it’s important for me not to stop socializing with my friends just because I’m pregnant, especially as I rely on them so much as my support circle when Mr Miner’s away, but I definitely have a limit. I’m a bit like Cinderella, except 10pm is my limit and it’s me, rather than my coach, turning into a pumpkin!

Having said all this, I was driving home at 10pm the other evening after a quiet dinner and it was one of those great summer nights, where the air is buzzing, full of lights and music and that heady mix of cheap perfume, cheaper drinks and the pheromones of attractive, single, twenty-somethings. Suddenly I could feel that familiar pang in my stomach – FOMO.

As I say, it’s not that I really want to go out and get smashed. In fact I miss dancing most of all. But let’s face it, unless you’re Jenna Dewan-Tatum, we’re all much more seductive dancers after a few vinos, and that combined with the fact that a pregnant woman gyrating is pretty terrifying for others, as well as dangerous for nearby glassware, has put me off moving on to a club after one or two soda waters. I am also keen not to end up rejected on the pavement, like a scene from Knocked Up!

Personally, I really think there is currently a missed opportunity for a sober disco for pregnant ladies, with non-alcoholic champagne and mocktails and a strict dress code of lycra maternity wear, elasticated waists and slippers or thongs… a place where pregnant women are welcome, because I’ve also started to feel like I can’t go out when Mr Miner’s away too. It’s as if  I need a partner to explain the pregnancy, to reassure the men folk that I am not a soon-to-be single Mum on a last-minute hunt for a father for my child.

And all of this sends me into a panic about not being myself anymore. Will I ever be allowed to go out without an escort again? Have I lost my independence? If I do go out, will I have to start mum dancing now – swaying from foot-foot-foot to seventies music in a circle with my other Mum friends? (Sorry Mum!).

Of course I have friends with kids who have come out of the other side of newborn chaos and go out and socialise just like we used to. Shock horror, they are still normal human beings, capable of drinking, dancing and having fun! So maybe it won’t be so bad and soon I will be back to my extroverted self, getting in trouble with Mr Miner for going a bit too wild.

But as I wake up with a clear head and a long lazy Sunday stretching out in front of me, my newly found introverted lifestyle also doesn’t seem all that bad after all.