I'm far to busy to be sitting here doing this. That is because we are going on 'holiday' on Thursday. I use the inverted commas because I do not see how travelling abroad with two small children can legitimately be described in such terms: particularly as one definition of holiday is given as 'days exempt from labour'. Oh the irony.
The sheer level of preparation is frightening. I won't even begin to discuss the problems associated with trying to organise a passport photograph for a newborn baby. (Suffice to say it took just the four trips to the post office using their check and send service.) And speaking of irony, I am ironing things that would never make it to the ironing basket under normal circumstances, but in order to fit the required quantity of clothes, nappies, muslins, towels and general baby accoutrements into the ridiculously small luggage allowance provided by a well known budget airline, must be pressed into a small a space as possible. And we must take twice as many clothes for Gertie as she is potty-training but still having a number of 'axe-didents' as she likes to call them. Once I would have moaned about not having enough allowance to transport all my shoes (I took nine pairs for my hen-weekend); now I will be lucky if I remember to put my own on before leaving the house.
We should look like the best-dressed family in the world in comparison to our usually dishevelled state, but unfortunately by the time we arrive at our destination all the careful hours of laundry will be rendered useless and we will all be just as creased as usual.
When we get there we are staying in a hotel. 'What luxury!' a pre-motherhood me might have been heard to cry. But now that simply means that there will be two large people and two small people inhabiting a single room for the duration of the trip. Not a recipe for happiness. It means lights out at 7.30pm. (I am praying for a balcony and an outdoor mini-bar - unlikely.) It means Gertie waking up every time Gilbert needs to feed through the night. And it means trying to entertain a toddler and a baby without all the usual tools of the trade that can be found at home: no swingy chair, no play-gym, no bulging toy-box...
My husband describes maternity leave as my 'little holiday'. So now I am having a holiday from my holiday - oh the joy! The list of things that needs to be done before we go away is not getting any shorter. Perhaps I sound a little ungrateful. It is because the spectre of a three hour flight and airport security looms large in my consciousness.
So I don't have time to be doing this blog. But I feel a little better for getting it all out of my system. I need a holiday.