In
hindsight I hadn’t planned very well at all for our first family trip away
together.
I thought we’d just chuck everything in the car in the morning, be out of the house by 10am, at the venue by 12pm, and have a lovely afternoon mooching round leafy Berkshire before going to the evening do.
I thought we’d just chuck everything in the car in the morning, be out of the house by 10am, at the venue by 12pm, and have a lovely afternoon mooching round leafy Berkshire before going to the evening do.
How
could I have forgotten EVERYTHING about planning to travel with a tiny baby?
So. There
was the outfit crisis to start with.
I’d luckily been lent a dress by a friend. She thought it might have possibly been a long top, but, as I couldn’t squeeze into anything else, and wasn’t prepared to wear it over my maternity jeans, it would have to do.
I’d luckily been lent a dress by a friend. She thought it might have possibly been a long top, but, as I couldn’t squeeze into anything else, and wasn’t prepared to wear it over my maternity jeans, it would have to do.
That
faff took a good part of the morning.
And
then there was the packing. I have to pack for three people now. Not two. A third
of whom is less than a foot tall but comes with so much paraphernalia that we
could have done with a trailer.
It’s
not just the nappies, the endless changes of clothes, the milk, the wipes, the spare
bottles, but it’s also a doubly buggy which is basically the size of the boot
of a Fiat Punto.
Two
hours later, and the packing’s done.
But
like clockwork, the baby then needs feeding, and I’m not talking for a couple
of minutes.
I mean
a life-draining length of time.
I imagine I end up looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger at the end of Total Recall when he breaks through into the oxygen starved atmosphere.
I imagine I end up looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger at the end of Total Recall when he breaks through into the oxygen starved atmosphere.
At the
crack of 2pm, we’re eventually in the car to begin the two and a half hour
journey to the venue.
The toasts
are at 4.15pm, so we’re aware that we’re cutting it a bit fine.
I
suddenly remember I haven't packed any tights. It’s one thing wearing a dress that might
potentially be just a top, but it’s another doing it with mottled purple legs.
After leaving four convenience stores empty-handed, Sainsbury’s Local comes good with a pair of tights that are such a thin denier that it’s hardly worth it.
After leaving four convenience stores empty-handed, Sainsbury’s Local comes good with a pair of tights that are such a thin denier that it’s hardly worth it.
And we’re
off.
Its
2.30pm, we’ll miss the toasts, but if the motorway’s clear we might make the
speeches.
Half an
hour up the motorway and I enquire whether Ben’s picked up the baby carrier
that slots into the bottom of the pram. No. Of course it’s a no. This means that
when we get there, we’ll have to carry him in our arms throughout the whole
event.
So we
turn round at the next junction.
OK. So
we’ll probably miss the speeches. But hopefully get there in time for something
to eat.
As Brighton
appears on the signs again, our daughter claims she feels sick.
Two
seconds later and she’s thrown up all down herself, her chair and the back of
my seat. In a vain attempt to help I put my hand out to catch it. I’ve no idea
what comfort that will offer but now I’ve got sick all up my arm too.
We get
home. The ten second turn-around to pick up the baby carrier turns into twenty minutes
as I hose her down with the shower.
And then
we get back in the car.
Two and
a half hours late, we eventually turn up. A super-quick change in the hotel and
we’re ready.
And as
we arrive at the reception, I lift the baby carrier up, the Velcro sticks to
my tights, and as I pull it off, ladders appear up and down my legs. I’ve also got
the mother of all colds so I’ve no idea how much we still smell of sick.
But we’re
there. We’ve made it.
We’ve survived our first family trip.
We’ve survived our first family trip.
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