The endless parties, the up all night, the beautiful music, the staying bright. The drinks, the dancing, the 6am friends, the never ending disco, the party to the end. The house shares, the laughter, the disco pants, the fun, the knowing at 4am you’re still not done. The glitter, the photos, the pal you just met. The stories, the headaches, the ‘let’s do it again.’ The nightclubs, the djs, the wild nights running free. The travel, the gigs, the only you and only me. The best times, the good times, the memories we have. The future looks different, to the things we then had.
The months of trying, the one line or two, the exciting buzz, when you can’t believe that it’s true. The trying to hide it, the twelve week scan, the ‘oh fuck we’d best come up with a plan.’ The wriggles, the tickles, the flutters, the kicks. The stretch marks, the ‘kankles,’ the migraines, the sick. The dreaming and longing for them to arrive, the wishing that it could just be week 39. The breathing, the pushing, the ‘GIVE ME THE DRUGS!’ The most magical feeling to have. The LOVE. The closeness, the cuddles, the long nights, the poo. The first steps, the smiles, when they say, ‘love you too.’ The exhaustion, raw emotion, the joy and the laughter. You would not change it for anything, the happily ever after.