Despite the good stuff that also happens, almost every family holiday to date has involved some sort of panic, scarring trauma or recovery. My own parents cleverly avoided this by simply never having any family trips. (Actually I lie. We had a family holiday once, it lasted ten and a half months from when I was six until seven, then we were done indefinitely.)
How's the serenity? Looks can be deceiving.
My first family holiday fear came on when I was six months along with my first bub. After surviving the rattling, small aircraft transfer to the island where we were to spend our final tropical break before parenthood, my bump flip-flopped like a big fish in a small bowl. I thought he was having an in-utero fit. I called the obstetrician from our room: ?My baby just did three quick somersaults in a row. Surely this is not normal?? It was probably the adrenalin in my bloodstream, but it was the first sign that for me, parenthood and holidays do not go together because anxiety is the third, unwelcome member of the trio.
As you do: Giant Mango, Bowen. (Holiday Ro-O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-OAd, Holiday Ro-O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-OAd!)
Moving right along, when said bump was a boy of eighteen months, we did Noosa. Unfortunately while we were there, he developed an ear infection so horrid, he refused to eat and spontaneously gave up milk for six whole months. Due to this infection, the flight home was excruciating for him. We had to physically restrain him for the three hours as he kicked, bit me, pulled my hair and threw his bottle at passengers. I arrived home in a crying, quivering heap. And I needed a holiday.
The next time we ventured interstate, the boy was nearly seven. We?d arrived at our accommodation in the late afternoon and asked him to come look around the digs with us. But he wanted to watch a video before dinner and insisted we go without him. Worst parenting mistake ever, as it turns out. Outside it was only heading toward sunset, but the apartment curtains were drawn. Around fifteen minutes later we returned to hear him screaming the place down. We opened the door to see him having an alarming, full scale panic attack. Even though the video was still running, the room had dimmed in that short time and he didn?t know where the light switches were. We paid for that for the next TEN WEEKS, as he had to sleep on a stretcher bed in our bedroom until the night fears passed. All because of that one stupid little decision. Oh, and while we were there, we got word that Steve Irwin had just tragically died, which, given the fact that boy was glued to him on cable TV every morning that holiday, did not help at all.
I may be imagining things but I think the next trip, in 2006 when Miss 4 was but a bump, we got off unscathed. Perhaps that?s because most of that year at home was one of our worst. Small mercies.
We tried a warm up weekend away at?a small? at a cottage. The dust was so bad our poor baby girl coughed non-stop?in her portacot?the entire night. The.Entire.Night. And two days after.?No rest there and too young for most remedies.
When Miss 4 was nearly two, we ventured to Far North Queensland again. For the first time the four of us boarded a plane. I always come prepared with many toys and distractions, but I?d hoped she?d sleep and she did not, so it was a workout with a toddler in a confined area.
Another Classic Night One of Holiday. Hospital.
I?ve had two Runner kids and therefore a white knuckle hand holding style near roads. Hyped up with exhaustion, she pulled and pulled to run over to Daddy across the road with our hire car. Then she tried her famous throw-herself-down-on-the-ground move usually reserved for supermarkets and places she did not wish to leave. But I was still viced over her hand. She hurt her wrist.
For the next two hours as we drove the cursed serpentine beach roads, she screamed and screamed as we prayed she?d fall asleep. She didn?t. The unrelenting, exhausted screaming and winding roads combined to build a perfect migraine for me. At our destination, rather than hop out to excitedly , I opened the car door, fell to my knees and hurled.
When I returned to the upright position, instead of unpacking, we dumped our things and headed off to the nearest local hospital, which we?d already passed about a half hour back. We spent our first evening on holiday in the waiting room, me nauseous and blurry eyed, she with her arm alternately on ice or?hanging limply by her side. We were seen, she was given a big dose of panadol and we were told it would be a 24 hour thing. We got a crusty deep fried dinner from the local servo.
The next 2 weeks were filled with glorious weather, stunning sights and much family fun, pool play and photo opps. But the kids still managed to stay up late each night and due to the Queensland light coming in through the zero block-out curtains, got up MUCH earlier than they would?ve at home.? (Who the fuck installs curtains that let the light in at frickin 5.45? They are dead to me. DEAD.)
So when we got home we were exhausted. Utterly, thoroughly, bone-deep exhausted. Once again, having enjoyed a change of scenery, but less rest than we?d get at home.
The icing on the home return cake is that our mid-twenties nephew minds house and feeds pets for us. Lord only knows who and what has been in our home but they certainly leave their stain. Though I tell him to throw pet food cans outside, he normally leaves some forgotten in the kitchen bin which wafts the welcoming aroma of dumpster throughout the house. I can?t even talk about some of the other stuff. Always something to look forward to.
So we?re due to go again next month. I resisted and resisted. I hate the packing and I can?t shake the nagging anxiety. I know we?ll have a great time eventually?it?s the settling in that nearly kills me.
Source: http://twitchycorner.com/?p=951
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