I’m afraid to say it out loud, so I’ll whisper it: My baby is sleeping through the night. It’s been happening for a few months now, but saying it, or even thinking it, could tempt fate, so I’ve told myself it’s just a phase. But this morning I realised that I couldn’t
Tiny grown-up girl, wrapped up in swathes of burgundy, you smile out, from deep inside. Oblivious to the over-size, just happy to finally be there. It’s a hand-me-down from your big sister, but you don’t mind. You’ve waited two long years to follow in her foot-steps; to follow in her uniform.
Down you come, bump, bump, bump, step by step, laughing hysterically each time you crash into me. Then back up the stairs to do it again. I make a slight move towards leaving my half-way-down-step, and am told “No mummy! You stay!” Then down you come again, stair by stair.
Every year, bright-eyed and innocent, I look forward to going away on holidays – to reading and relaxing and resting, and to getting lots of sleep and sun. And every year, I am yet again taken by surprise to find that the holiday isn’t quite the chilled out, easygoing, restful
Holidaying with a toddler is kind of a contradiction in terms – if you expect, that is, for a holiday to be a relaxing affair. If you like high-octane adventure holidays, where you come home exhausted after two weeks of running, climbing and water-based-activities, then of course, holidaying with a