Day to day living with a toddler isn’t easy. Well, it isn’t with my toddler, anyway. In the blissful time-filled days pre-children I had grand plans. We would stay in the UK for our holidays until she was 1, then we would get a cute passport photo taken and jet off to an all-inclusive trip to Benidorm, or somewhere equally dreadful but kid friendly. When you ACTUALLY go on holiday with a toddler it brings a whole new perspective on what you call a holiday, namely because you still don’t lie in and it’s not as much fun.
So we’re at the 18-month point and the thought of even taking her for a passport picture fills me with dread. In our town, there is a recommended place that takes them for kids, but all I can imagine is her face something like this:
Rather than this:
And the inevitable “will they accept the picture now I’ve paid £70 quid” (or whatever it is).
I actually had a little look at the breaks in the January sale and broke out in a cold sweat at the thought of taking her on a plane, I can’t imagine anything worse than being stuck in a tin can with the loudest baby in the world (Guinness World Record application outstanding).
So once again we have come to Center Parcs (our previous trips can be found here and here), and I do really love it; a log cabin and a real fire are the stuff of dreams, but with Isabelle walking, we have created a whole host of other issues that we haven’t had before. Namely the fact that she walks at -2 mph. We leave the cabin in search of coffee (as we forgot to bring some along) and 45 minutes later we have just reached the path.
Now I have become dependent on coffee as of late, so this is not my ideal way of getting my first cup of the day. “Why don’t you buy some?” I hear you say… I’m not spending £3.50 on some crappy Nescafé, I need a proper americano thank you very much.
So once we have navigated the path, we get up to a speed of 1 mph whilst we try and go into everyone else’s cabin, before deciding that walking is for losers and having a full-on tantrum.
At this point, we wrestle her into the pram and power walk to Starbucks. Not quite the sunny beach days I had in mind.
After the IV dose of caffeine (I wish), she then creates a second Merry Hell because she ate her last raisin and it’s unacceptable that there aren’t more. In protest, she bites Daddy in the hope that the taste of fresh blood will compensate for the lack of dried grapes on offer. We decide this is enough for us and slump back to the cabin to feed her Dairylea sandwiches and wait for nap time, with Peppa Pig on continuously in the background (sorry, not sorry we let her watch TV).
That’s pretty much our day on repeat on holiday. How we would enjoy a cruise around the Med, child-free is beyond me. This is what dreams are made of…
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