Before Ivy was born, I used to be a really social cat. But since motherhood, I've retreated more and more into the domestic nest and now I am happiest on those days when I don't have to set foot outside the front door.
Sometimes I am so grateful that I waited until I was 75 to have children, because tiny children come with invisible ties that bind you to the home; specifically, to the kitchen and the washing machine. Now I love those ties. I like making my own laundry liquid, a full pantry brings me joy and sitting with a cup of tea to plan a weekly menu is, to me, what snorting a gram of cocaine off the thighs of a nubile virgin may be to Gene Simmons. A rocking good time. But these little domestic ties would have have felt like the shackles of hell to Young Me.
When Ivy was three months old, we moved to a little beach town an hour or two south of Sydney and fell, to our joy, into a fabulous little community of like-minded bobos, bogans and beloved fruitcakes. But every once in a while, I feel the need to take off up the highway, sans babies, and see my Ladies, where we exchange information, pics, gossip and warm, fuzzy love.
Love is the drug, my friends! And the loving love of a loving lady; nay, a pile of them - a cuddle-puddle! An overload of oestrogenated bosom-boasters! Well, that is the loveliest love of all.