Awaiting holiday is the best feeling EVER! No sex (or shower,
no matter how great) can possibly compare. The anticipation, the planning, the
excitement. Ohhh, just bring it on! The travel, the adventure, the change. And
that amazing feeling of relaxation. Stress-less freedom from every day routines.
HO-LI-DAY here we come!
I get into a holiday mood like a slug into a beer trap. Greedily,
fast and careless about the consequences. I am easily drowned in the promises
of something amazing. And although normally I seek an adventure, this time I’ll
settle for some lazy mornings and putting my feet up (occasionally).
Just around the corner, the promise of the holiday is only one
packing away.
The packing. A jumper for staying in, an outfit for going
out. A scarf to accessorise, trousers, underwear and toiletries. Bag packed.
The travel cot for the little one. The nappies, the wet
wipes and the changing mat. The blankets and the sleeping bag. Clothes (a set for
each day), bibs (hundreds), toys (just scoop them all into a bag). Pyjamas. Some
more clothes, just in case. The rocker, the walker and the door swing. The sun
hat, the fat hat. Maybe another jumper? Bottles of medicine and tubs of creams.
Breakfasts, lunches, dinners, snacks. The beaker cups. The pram and the rain
cover. The sling and the back pack carrier just in case. The this, the that,
the amount of stuff directly correlated to the deterioration of my mental
state.
Once the boot of the car is kicked closed with passion, the
promise of the holiday is just one journey away.
Fun of travelling. Loud music, open windows, wind smacked
excited faces. Forget it all! Traveling Mother will have none of that. Peace
and quiet, right temperature and the twinkling stars in the name of the
sleeping baby. Long and boring drive to hell, but the promise of the holiday is
just at the end of the road.
Finally we arrive. I salivate like a bulldog dreaming about a
glass of red, chilling in the garden and loosing myself in the tranquillity of the
cottage… The promise of the holiday is just one unpacking away.
The travel cot, the blankets, the nappies, the toys. The
clothes, the meals, the bibs and the cups. The rocker, the walker and the
hanging swing. With the bored baby crying, the superhero Mother splits herself
into five to achieve her simple goals. My sanity is kept only by the promise of
the cold beer awaiting once the baby is finally asleep.
While stressed and exhausted the Mother alternates between setting
up and feeding the baby, her co-holidaying buddies get out of Her way, straight
to the pub around the corner. They deserve it, it’s their holiday.
I hear them come back at two am, just after the Mother had
put the baby to sleep for the third time. They are talking and laughing and for
a split second I consider joining the fun. But the heavy eyelids refuse to
open and the sleepy legs don’t want to move. With the last of my consciousness I
realise how naïve I was, how premature were my hopes, the promises misleading.
This is as good as it gets. Between now and the next time
His cry awakes me, this is my holiday and I need to make the most of it. So the Mother goes to sleep, because in few hours she is back on duty.
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