Drunken Conversations: The M Word

Can I start by saying that I really don't drink very often. I am not teetotal, don;t get me wrong, but I can take or leave drinking.


I know people of my generation, especially us women, are meant to be permanently sozzled, if the press is to be believed. I did used to love a good drinking session.


However, after being teetotal for close to 3 years- first due to trying to get pregnant with Mini, then being pregnant with Mini, then breastfeeding, getting pregnant with Littlest whilst still breastfeeding, and finally when he was born early and I was at the hospital near constantly, well, drinking no longer seemed important. Or as necessary.


Being in the centre of my adopted Irish family, and they love a drink. Don't get me wrong, we're not talking ranging alcoholics, but they can drink with skill.


Whilst I have a few glasses of wine and that's me finished!


Well, after not drinking over Christmas, and having not drunk at all since the MADS, I decided to have a bottle of wine last night. And Elder joined me.


I managed a bottle and a half over quite a number of hours-pretty respectable amount for me- and from my head this morning I was certainly tipsy. 


Elder, who can handle his alcohol due to years of practice and who generally laughs at me, had a couple with me, but found it so funny that Mrs Teetotal here was enjoying herself, rather than sitting on the laptop, he decided to make the most of it.


Whilst I don't recall all of yesterday, I do recall one conversation. Which has still be spoken about this evening too.


Now, I am very happy for smug marrieds, to steal Helen Fielding's description, and when I was in my early 20s, and all my mates were getting hitched, I drove Elder mad about it. Except he told me to bog off and find someone who was as obsessed with the M word as me, or we could stay as we were. 


By the time I had Mini at 25, I was so set in our ways I would shrug if anyone asked. 


But recently, well, the M word has been creeping back in.


There are a few reasons I think that are at the centre of it.


Firstly, Elder's sister, the Nurse, is getting remarried in July. And I am really excited for her. 


She's done it before, but the man she is marrying this time is a great guy, and she's very happy, and there is lots of buzz in the family for it. Of course!


Then there was a conversation I had with none other than the Nephew in the summer. About how he wants to settle down and have something like his Uncle has with me- family, home, happy stuff. But how he would get married! Cheeky beggar.


The biggest one though. The surname issue.


You see, when you are just a couple, it doesn't matter. But have kids and that difference becomes very obvious.


I am having to fill out forms more and more for Mini, with her joining school in September, and her being of an age when she needs to see an optician. The people who are putting her info into computers always immediately ask me "and what is your first name, Mrs Deegan?" To which I have to correct them, as I don't share the surname.


The biggest issue with my surname is that its not one I feel part of. I don't have a relationship with my family, and Elder and the kids, along with his family are my proper family now. Except I feel like I'm on this little island offshore, watching them altogether on the main land.


Silly, I know, but I am fast approaching 30, and I would like to make it properly, officially permanent. Yes, 11 years and 2 kids is also pretty permanent too, of course!


Elder thought, wrongly, that I want to show off with the big meringue dress and tiara. So wrong! I'd happily get married, with his family there, a few close mates, whilst wearing jeans, flip flops and a t-shirt!


I think it may have got in his head, especially the name thing. Watch this space!