We leave for ‘the holiday’ on Saturday. My husband is excited. My parents (they are coming) are excited. Gigi is saying ‘holiday’ with a vague idea of what that is as, borne from the fact that Peppa (that pig) went on holiday on an airplane to Italy, losing her teddy over and over. So she is somewhat excited. I can’t say I am excited. I am not in dread though. I am not somewhere in between. Like many experiences since becoming a mother have become, it is bringing me to a new emotion. A new, unidentifiable emotion. I need science here. Please tell me. What am I feeling? Trepidation? Nervous excitement? Dare I say fear? Attenborough, are you interested? You could explore this safari of feeling in the hormone disco that is my brain and find very exotic species. We have been on holidays with Gigi twice since her birth-the Cotswolds and Sligo. It was different but really good. Now we have Betsy too. I have found having two much tougher at times and worry…how will holidays with two be?
How the untitled emotion is manifesting itself…
I am packing. Mentally, physically and emotionally. Mental check lists race my brain daily. This year I am on the frugal packing diet and am enforcing a stricy very economical, ‘no new buys’ policy. Aside from a beach towel and a four euro pair of sandals for Gigi on the beach, I have done this very well. Those were essential buys for safety!
At night I think. For hours. Too much. I dream. I wake up tired from the activity of my dream packing and yet feel nothing is done properly.
Where are we off to? Waterford. A county about three hours away from us. We have a house rented near a beach. Idyllic. Sounds glorious.
I can almost see the Irish reading this do the ‘wince’ face. You are hoping I don’t get my hopes up for sunshine and halcyon days. Calm babies and all perfection. Despite sign posts declaring the yellow brick road style way to the Sunny southeast, there is never a guarantee. Don’t worry. We know. We know all too well what may occur.
We have done Irish holidays many times. They require packing for all seasons. No joke. Just practicality. I have brought wellies and flipflops, hats of all types, brollies and sun cream.
I know we will have fantastic quality time with our girls. I know we are making memories for us all. I know if anything annoying or irritating happens we will make it a funny story in the future.
Doesn’t stop the worry.
I worry about the nights. Will they settle? We might all be in one room. This sounds like a desperate idea. Where is the holiday in that?!
Will it be safe? I haven’t baby proofed. The website shows eight pictures of the property and only three interior shots. No amount of zoom can show me everything. What can I do? I am facing a lack of control…horror.
I worry about imagined situations of potential crisis. How wrong could they go? What shall we do?
I think about weather. We are in a rainy country. Great little country if it had a roof, as they say. Will the drenching let up and what can we do if not? Will we spend our holiday just browsing Lidl, Dunnes and Super Valu in another county…
Worst of all…if times become hard, Dickensian style…can we stick it out? Are we going to give in and come home… that would be the pits.
So there it is.
A boiling pot of feeling and yet I can’t put my finger on it.
Time will tell maybe.
See you after our ‘break’. I know we are blessed to have time away together. Luck has shone on us already and love is with us every day. I just am that type of Mammy. I see it all. Potentially good and bad. I hope it comes together for us. In the meantime, small goals.