Pampers, Planes and Pinot

Anna - 1 Sep 14

I used to love travelling. The excitement you felt the night before a trip abroad, knowing that sun, sea and sangrias await. The idea of getting your hands around a good book, your other half, or even a new sexy man (if it was that type of holiday – pre husband obviously) was a tempting treat. The plane trip was hardly worth a second thought, unless you were considering what drink you’d choose to toast your trip while in the air…

And then children happened. And plane journeys became the stuff of nightmares.

I know, I know – parenting websites drum it into us that preparation is paramount and needs to be so meticulous that even Brown Owl would be proud. iPad, earphones, snacks, favourite blanket, blah blah blah. But sometimes, things just go wrong.

Take for example, our recent trip to the South of France with our angelic 3 year old and smiley 7 month old. “What could be so hard?” I thought in my naïve little mind.

It began at check in.   It would seem our cases weigh close to a tonne. “PLEEEEASE don’t charge us extra baggage allowance,” I plead – ‘it’s only bloody formula, baby grows and a thousand nappies that make it heavy…. It’s not like anything in there is going to make us look like we belong on Nikki Beach FFS.” They charge us an extra £50.

As the three year old drags her feet to the gate like it’s her final walk of freedom, we smugly saunter to the front of the queue clutching our Easy Jet ‘speedy boarding’ passes. Everyone else has one too. We wait. And make a mental note of the families we definitely don’t want to sit next to.

At this point, the 7 month old decides to unleash the mother of all craps – escaping his nappy, covering his (last set) of ‘plane clothes’, and makes the impressive trip up his neck.

We are the family that nobody wants to sit next to.

We sit glumly with our half naked baby and resist eye contact with anyone outside the family. The three year old has other ideas. “Dadddddyyyy”, she ventures loudly. “Why does that old lady have a hairy face like daddy? You won’t make me talk to her will you?” I hang my head, let the husband tackle this one and keep focused on the bottle of Pinot  Noir that awaits us later that night.

As we embark, I spot a young woman sitting on her own crying, “poor thing” I think. I then realise we have seats behind said woman. Before we have time to squabble over who gets which seat, the 7 month old manages to pry his upper body from my arms and grab  a chunk of the lady’s hair. It doesn’t bode well.

Plane in the air, and the husband and I down two glasses of white whilst attempting to shovel Ella’s Chick-Chick Chicken Casserole into our open mouthed baby and stop the three year old from giving the crying lady whiplash.

Half way through and we hope and pray to our Atheist God that both children fall sleep. They do – hurrah! And then they have to wake up. And the wailing starts. The noise is somehow reminiscent of mating foxes – not ideal.

Yes, we’re the family that people are regretting sitting next to.

We land. We’re all worn out, we’re exasperated and we need to get the hell out of the airport. The baggage handlers have broken our buggy. I swear very loudly – and quite a lot (then feel guilty).

There’s no doubt that this trip made me into a nervous wreck, but rather like (first time) childbirth, I knew we’d do it again. Hearing the kids laugh with pure joy whilst playing with us in the pool; seeing them curiously try the new foods on offer; or stay up way past their bedtime dancing the night away (in mine and the 3 year old’s case anyway) – just because that’s what happens on holiday, are the things that will stay with us.

It is these memories that make the joys of easyJet all worthwhile – along with the treasured bottle(s) of Pinot (obvs).

Anna

Editor of QueensParkMums.com, and Mama to two cheeky little monkeys, Anna is simply winging it like the rest of them. Lives in North West London.

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