I danced, I sparkled, I spewed in my handbag.

I have been pregnant and/or a mum for over 3 years now.
I was the hungry, emotional, expectant mum with the big belly that people could rub. Then I was the new mummy who was tired and manic and often had a smear of something nasty on my dress.
Then I was pregnant mumma back in the office, scoffing cakes, splitting pants and being told to sit down and rest. Then I was the overwhelmed mum of a toddler and a newborn.
It got to a point that I couldn't remember the last time I was just me.
It seemed as though many people only knew me as a baby car seat owning, cheese stick wielding, goes home early, get a cheap haircut kind of gal. But I'm really fun! And I can stay up past 9pm!
So I went away to Bluesfest at Byron Bay with two of my closest friends. I found me again. I danced, I sparkled, I spewed in my hand bag.
The night before I left had been spent crying on the kitchen floor with my 5 month old, as he howled in pain with tonsilitis. I was crying for him, for his pain. I was also crying because I was going to a music festival the next day and wanted some sleep. Then I cried because I felt like a selfish person. I cried all the way to the airport, while my lovely husband told me that everything would be fine, I was going to a festival and to just enjoy myself. My toddler piped in with, 'yeah mum, you're going to a chestibal!', which was so adorable I cried more.
Then I found my friend at the check in and we giggled a lot. We chuckled on the plane, we chortled on the bus. Then we met up with our other friend and opened a bottle of vodka, had a swim in the rain and laughed a whole lot more. And people, it was only 2 pm!
 With gum boots on our feet, and mischief on our minds, we were off to the Chestibal.
The thought of cueing in smelly mud for portaloos, dancing in plastic ponchos in the rain and waiting in crowded, steamy tents for two hours to see a band while busting for a pee would ordinarily make me want to scream in terror. But this was the new, adventurous me and I had a blast.
After some excellent bands, a sweaty, limb flinging dance at a nightclub, and a teary 4 am banjo serenade on the beach by a stranger, mumma was ready to hang up her boots.
And then we did it all again.
Day two was a little shaky. But my only task for the day was to get myself feeling ok for the festival. The only mission: to just think about myself. It was surreal.
We had brekky (without food being flung at walls), we swam in the surf (a proper adult swim, head under, no buckets or spades), we drank beers on the sand (just like in the Corona ad).
We held hands and got weepy during Paul Simon, we danced in the mud to Ska and we smuggled hip flasks in our gum boots. I felt like I was twenty again.
The next morning. I felt like a very unhealthy eighty year old. My bunk bed seemed very far off the ground and the room was rather spinny.
A packed plane, turbulence and my pre flight snack of salt and vinegar chips and a coffee turned out to be the perfect storm.
Salt and vinegar chips were a bad choice.
I sat, white knuckled in a cold sweat, begging my poor stomach to calm down. I wanted to tell my friend, who was staring out the window wistfully, listening to music. My other mate was in front, blissfully flicking through a mag. I considered tapping her on the shoulder.
But I knew as soon as I said it out loud, it would happen. I looked at the stranger squished in next to me and I knew that I would never make it past her to the loo. So I just sat there.
The stewardess announced our descent to Sydney and I felt a bit of hope. I was going to make it.
I wasn't going to make it. After a violent lurch, I grabbed my water bottle and instead of taking a swig of water, I lost my lunch. My friend turned and shrieked in horror, frantically searching for a vomit bag.
It turns out that budget airlines don't carry vomit bags anymore. As she tried to fashion a funnel from the inflight magazine, I chucked in my handbag. over and over again.
Then I sat with my head down and my face burning for the next twenty minutes, as people craned their neck to see Spew Girl. My friend dry retched at the nasty odour, and the chunks I blew on her arm. It felt like an eternity. When the doors opened, the blast of cool Sydney air felt like heaven. And to escape the judgey eyes was bliss.
By the time we got to the baggage carousel, in spite of the nausea and horror, we were all giggling. Old friends are the best.
When I got home,  I kissed my husband and I got into bed with my two year old. She munched on a cheese stick (which was not my fave smell) and we talked about princesses. Then I woke up my little boy and he smelt like a delicious little baby, and he drooled and giggled and kicked me in the boob.
 I have some great memories of my holiday from being a mum, but having two car seats doesn't symbolise the end of having fun, and you need to find yourself every now and then. My new mantra:  I will dance, I will stay out past 9 pm and I will never eat salt and vinegar chips again.