I remember when the things I took home from a summer holiday included a tan, a few souvenirs, a taste for sangria, a satisfying stack of well-read novels, and a Europop earworm.
Those were the days, and boy are they loooooong gone. Post parenthood you get to bring home over-tired children and a shit load of holiday washing. In fact you’ll be tied (or sellotaped) to the bloody washing machine for perhaps the rest of your natural life.
So after the epic pack-a-thon, here’s the full list of our collective take-homes from a week in the sun.
Big Small Person
- An unprecedented tolerance for water on the face
- Complete (over)confidence in jumping into the pool
- A vehement conviction that dipping one’s face into the surface of the pool constitutes ‘swimming under water’
- Rampant desire for a swimming pool in the garden at home
- Absolute certainty that 21.30 is the ‘new’ bedtime
- Doubt in the omnipotence of the sacred Glo Clock (Noooooooo!!!!!!!!!!)
- Nut-brown knees
- An aversion to socks, or footwear that doesn’t make a flip flop sound when you walk
- A new hat
- A fan, purse, mini dream-catcher and various other tat for amusement and parental peace purposes
- A strong predilection for the consumption of chicken nuggets, chips and ice cream at every single fucking meal.
Holidays are brilliant!!!!!
Small Small Person
- A deep set and unshakeable belief that anyone other than Mummy is UP TO NO GOOD and BODES ILL FOR BABIES
- A runny tummy
- Sleep regression
- An aversion to all types of food, including former favourites
- Newfound hatred of inserting one’s body in bodies of water OF ANY TYPE
- New flirtation skills, reserved only for foreign waiters
- A mild concussion having thrown itself off the bed onto the ceramic floor in a temper tantrum
- An unhealthy obsession with the Big Small Person’s flip flops.
No. Produce Mummy now or suffer the consequences.
- A nice, even tan after hours in the pool with the Big Small Person
- Top ‘fun parent’ status
- A deteriorated relationship with the Small Small Person, who is broken
- Two books read cover to cover
- Fitness levels kept up with daily jogs or swims.
Meh. Not enough booze or sex.
- A limpet baby
- A feral pre-schooler
- Chronic sleep deprivation
- Alabaster/cornbeef skin, having spent holiday inside or in the shade
- A deteriorated relationship with the Big Small Person, having barely seen it for a week
- Bottom ‘boring pool-side parent’ status
- Zero books read
- An extra 15lbs
- Something of a grudge against Dadonthenetheredge
- Backache, from constantly holding limpet baby
- Nipple ache, as primary point of limpet attachment
- Expertise as wiggling the same damn three toys in new and exciting ways in desperate attempt to distract limpet baby from limpetism
- A disinclination for human contact having been ‘touched out’ by limpet baby
- Homicidal hatred of the four baby books that came on holiday (yes, including Fox’s Socks)
- Ongoing heart palpitations, having watched suddenly un-sticky un-limpity baby fall straight off the bed
- Intimate knowledge of the symptoms of concussion and cerebral contusions following extensive and obsessive internet research
- Astronomic data roaming charges (see above)
- Sparkly new neurosis around ‘secondary drowning’ (look it up and join me!)
- A fervent appreciation of routine
- Overwhelming gratitude for alternative sources of childcare
- A mountain of fucking holiday washing
- A gazillion and three midge bites (approx)
- A possible drink problem
- A strong desire never to leave the Nether Edge ever, ever again.
Never again. Pass the wine.
I could go on, but I’ve got far too much washing to do – and then leave languishing in unsorted piles for the rest of eternity.