Thursday, 6 February 2014

Babies and holidays make an interesting cocktail

Someone extremely wise told me that travelling with babies is basically like being at home....with the possible upside of a better climate and the likely downside of major inconvenience humping caseloads of baby paraphernalia onto buses, planes and trains.

Having now braved our first flight and holiday to the much maligned Tenerife, I'd like to add some colour to the advice above.

Downsides first....
Packing was indeed traumatic. Given my ongoing issues with indecision and procrastination, selecting my daughter's S/S14 wardrobe (yep, that's spring/summer to the non fashionistas) provided hours of amusement leaving little time to consider my own travel essentials. Needless to say she has looked much better dressed and cared for than me on most days this last week. Judge me by my child's appearance please, not my own.

Similarly, I did not think all the practicalities through. Logistics, yes, but the reality..no. Far from being an opportunity for tanning and relaxation en famille, it has felt more like a bizarre extended boxing match where my husband and I tag each other into, and out of, the ring every hour to square up to daughter duty. Not that she's a nightmare, but her needs are rather at odds with our own; she loves shade, we love sun...she wants to play, we want to sleep. Rubbish combinations. Add in the stress of a resort populated largely by geriatrics, where everyone wants sleep and quiet..and you are the evil couple bringing a wailing munchkin to the adjacent sun lounger. Cue glares from men, sympathy smiles from women and a general feeling of parental incompetence. I now see why people with children holiday in places with more people with children. Solidarity in numbers.

On the upsides... "Ola sunshine!" Glorious heat on the bones. Husband time also rocks, as does father-daughter bonding time. Also huge gratitude for being looked after by the professionals. No cooking, no cleaning.  My lazy ass could not be happier. Basically it all adds up to me feeling a little more like me, and a little less like a walking dairy.

If I were to reverse the clock and give advice to myself with the benefit of hindsight I would make the following points:
1. Tenerife is NOT in the third world, it may be an island, but they have nappies, formula and babies too. In fact the third world also has babies..and they survive without much of the gubbins that I have been brainwashed to believe they require. It seems 70 nappies was a little OTT for 10 days.

2. Do your hotel homework. We were allocated a cot, microwave, kettle and changing mat. Massive result..except I'd already packed our travel cot and lost half my suitcase in the process. AND Bring travel wash. Overpriced hotel laundry services suck (€3 for a bib!! WTF!) But who wants to return home with a suitcase of vomity muslins?

4. Explore what the hotel means by 'babysitting service'. In our case it meant some half-cut crazy Spanish lady coming to sit in our room for a few hours (at great expense) whilst we ate in the restaurant downstairs. Soooo much easier to plonk her in the buggy!! (Massive love for McLaren-legendary piece of kit)

5. Don't scrimp on the room. Seriously. As a serial bargain hunter this is worth spanking money on. We started in a room too small to swing a mouse in, let alone a cat. Cot practically next to my ear = not relaxing. Short of putting the cot in the bathtub we decided that upgrading to a larger room would enable greater comfort and 'privacy'. Money well spent.

All in all, well worth the effort, but next time I'm packing less, winging it more and maybe bringing a grandparent or two!

Wednesday, 29 January 2014

Life is like a game of snakes and ladders...

Perhaps I'm looking at my former life through rose tinted spectacle, but I miss making progress. I also miss being in control, or at least the illusion of control! I could have sworn that even when life pre-baby (PB) was tough, being me meant living out that human instinct of 'onwards and upwards'. Thus even when faced with the interminable scree slopes at the top of Kilimanjaro ( feel free to imagine an alternative mountain of your choosing in Wales...if Kenya is a leap too far), where in the bitter cold at 5am you lose half of every step you take...somehow you still make it to the summit, the glorious dawn view a just reward for your efforts.

Am not sure how it's meant to work with babies,  but it doesn't feel like climbing a mountain. More like a giant game of snakes and ladders, where if you have a 100 numbered squares it doesn't matter how much progress you've made, be it reaching 28 or 97,....there is still that giant python lurking on the horizon, analogous to a perfect storm of teething or that latest stomach bug, ready to throw you mercilessly back to square 2. 

True you also get ladders in this childish game. You can celebrate your munchkin rolling from front to back for the first time (standing ovation please), your first glorious giggle ( which truly melts the heart), the arrival of the jumperoo (a.k.a circle of neglect) or a bonus 6hr stretch of unbroken sleep ( love those immunisations). These are indeed magical, amazing moments to be cherished. 

However it's all rather more like a game or lottery that I'm used to. My life is now less the meritocratic 'no pain, no gain' and more 'roll the dice and see what happens'. I miss being in control and I miss a degree of predictability, where if I plan well I reap the rewards.

Right now, if you don't plan well quite honestly you don't stand a chance...but it seems unjust that you can do almost everything right and then another variable leaps up to bite you in the behind. Thoughts on a postcard please.