Packing the Prime Minister

You know me, ever the drama queen.

But this week has seen dramatics taken to a new height, with the terrifying and almost impossible task of packing for our first family holiday.

I used to quite enjoy packing for holidays. It was a leisurely and relaxing activity, part of the build-up to the holiday itself. I’d write lists with sub-headings like “Toiletries” and “Swimwear” (I agree, far too much time on my hands). I carefully browsed the shops to find the perfect new bikini. I took my time painting my nails and making sure there were no unruly stragglers in the bikini line area. My legs were shaved and moisterised and I had at least three new outfits for the trip. I even plucked my hairy toes. Yes, it’s fair to say the pre-holiday experience was a pleasant one.

And then I had a baby.

I have been packing for a week. Yes, a full week. I’ve written a notebook full of lists. I’ve packed and then unpacked and then packed again. I’ve decided to take nappies, changed my mind in an attempt to slim-line the luggage, then changed my mind again. I’ve packed a bag of toys for the plane, panicked and added more, then chucked them all on the floor to make my choices from scratch.

What if she doesn’t like those toys? What if it’s cold and she doesn’t have enough clothes? What if it’s hot and she doesn’t like the choice of four hats I’ve taken? What if she gets hungry at the airport? What if two magic blankets aren’t enough? What about milk? What about books? What about sheets? Towels? Nappies? Should I take more nappies? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

Last night saw the culmination of my huge over-packing efforts. I collapsed in a heap on the floor wailing “I just can’t do it anymore. I’ve got more responsibility than the Prime Minister!”

Needless to say, the (self proclaimed) Northern Love Machine laughed at me and told me to get a grip.

But I still haven’t finished. This bloody packing lark is taking longer than my university dissertation and a heck of a lot more research. I haven’t even started on my own clothes yet. And don’t even ask about the bikini line area. Or the hairy toes.

So on that note I’m going to go and attempt some kind of conclusion to my packing nightmare. I realise I’ve turned this into a far more complicated activity than it ever needed to be. But if I could just make up my mind about those damn nappies…

See you all in two weeks, when you can hear all about the unpacking at the other end. Bet you can’t wait.



Filed under Travel

11 responses to “Packing the Prime Minister

  1. Oh those days. How I remember them well. I knew we had turned the corner when I scooped the children up one day minus the ginormous buggy, the gigantic changing bag, the never ending ‘what if’ paraphernalia and we just went. Went through the door with not even a spare pair of diapers stuffed into my pocket.

    This too shall pass, my love.

  2. Amanda Hills

    LOVE THIS ONE! made me L O very Loud!…. Read it out to all my work this one haha 🙂 and forwarded it to my friend I told you about who is having a baby – Brilliant Stuff Molly x

  3. This would explain why my mum takes forever to pack before going anywhere. She’s clearly never got rid of the habit, despite both kids being in their twenties and having not just moved out by migrated to other countries. She’s coming to England on May 27th and has already started packing. And I bet she’s got her lists too. Have a great holiday. Looking forward to hearing all about it.

  4. we are twins! i have hairy toes too….
    have a fab hol x

  5. Really enjoyed this post! I admit I laughed (but you have my sympathy too – in case you think I’m being cruel). Hope you’re having a fab holiday and that the packing was worth it!

  6. Stopping over from Fancy’s hood. After I had my daughter we didn’t go on another vacation until she was 14, too much pressure.

  7. Popping in from Fancy’s. I think we are long lost sisters. What, you don’t believe me? I can prove it! If you’ve got time and are so inclined read this:
    Now I can’t wait to read about the vacation, and the unpacking of course, cause that’s just as much fun!

  8. Tell me about it (this from the woman who can’t even commit to booking a family holiday…) – friends of ours nearly divorced over an arguement about whether or not to take the big plastic baby bath with them on a weekend away…

    You are not alone!

  9. Pingback: Turkey: Not just for Christmas | Mother's Always Right

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