Eva Bradley
WHAT happens in your world when the sun goes down? Night time is many things to many people. For some it is the chance to peel back the layers and masks required during the working day and reconnect with one's true identity.
Our smart suit/high heels day face might be a front for a track pants and Ugg boot personality by night.
For others, after dark is a time to unplug from commitments and routines or to pursue passions and hobbies which daylight hours don't allow time for.
From the light leaking from not-quite-pulled curtains, every house after dark hints at the life living inside it.
For so long now, night time has consisted of a routine that goes like this: give the baby some dinner, give the baby a bath, give the baby a story, give the baby a bottle, give the baby a pat on the back for 10 minutes, then give up.
Give up on the day, give up on the dinner I'd planned to cook, give up on looking anything less than run over by the bus of life, and 100 per cent give up on the idea of going out.
As every parent will know, routines are a blessing. And a curse. By the time you're done with them the only practical place to be is on the couch and the only activity to do while there is drink wine.
In a moment of fleeting, incautious honesty the other night, my husband mentioned that I was not as much fun as I used to be. This sort of comment made after a woman has worked all day then come home to the 5-7pm baby routine is a bit of a mood killer - although it did prove I had far more energy left than I thought as I fumed and puffed for a considerable time afterwards.
But it also prompted some overdue introspection. The reality was that after 7pm, I didn't need to be home. With summer on its way it was time to reimagine myself ... or at least remember.
With a friend visiting from out of town, I'd made arrangements to pop over and have a drink where she was staying.
Again my husband pointed out this was rather boring and perhaps we should meet at a bar instead.
The fact I had forgotten all about bars over the past 18 months showed me just how fast life can change, and how important it is to make an effort to remember who we were and think about who we want to be.
And so I dusted off my heels, brushed my hair, put on makeup and went out.
It was only Wednesday night but just stepping outside in darkness with neither a camera nor a baby slung over my shoulder felt like a small and very beautiful miracle.
For a few hours, I drank wine, indulged in adult conversation (and not ALL of it about raising small children) and generally acted like Eva instead of Edward's mother.
I even saw another mother from my coffee group out doing the same thing and we exchanged a little mutual admiration for our cleverness.
By 10.30pm I was tucked up in bed in a bid to bank enough sleep to see me through another day of work and routine.
As I turned out the light, I felt like a spark of happiness ignite inside and it was just bright enough to shine some light on the me that I used to be before we were three.
Eva Bradley is a columnist and photographer.