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.