THIS weekend I'm going on a night out.

If this isn't on the front page it really should be because it's a rare occurrence last seen about a fortnight before dinosaurs appeared on the planet.

Nowadays a heavy night is one in which the baby wakes up every hour instead of every two hours.

A bender is pouring a small glass of wine...and then at the last minute ADDING AN EXTRA DASH.

Gone are the days when I would start at the pub, head to a club, drink til 3am and then sleep until tea-time the next day.

Now my life is a riot of early mornings (well hello 5am, we meet again) and even earlier nights to try and bank a few hours of shut-eye before the whole fandango begins again.

So a night out is big news. BIG news.

It has been in the planning for a long time and on the day will require military-level execution, as it will take me approximately seven hours just to get ready.

This is not because of vanity (although, to be clear, I will be wearing my own weight in eye-bag-hiding foundation) but is because the baby has decided 'licking mummy's face' is a hilarious game which makes applying make-up a bit tricky.

Her hobbies also include 'grabbing and pulling mummy's carefully-styled hair' and 'poking mummy in the eye immediately after she applies her mascara'.

And of course 'throwing up on mummy's carefully-chosen outfit' is a game she never gets bored of.

But even if I have to go out with only half a face of make-up, hair that has not been brushed and an outfit usually more at home in the gym, I WILL MAKE IT OUT.

I just have to remember that dignity is my friend, or there's every chance two glasses of wine could lead to some 'mum unleashed' table-dancing, which we all know can only end in one place (and that place is A&E).

Or, and this is far more likely, I'll have half a vodka, fall asleep in a corner and Smithy will have to come and collect me. All before 8pm.

Us mums certainly know how to party!