Five days out from our pending First Family Fun Trip to sunny somewhere in Oz (don't worry, we know where we're going, even if we don't know where we've been)* I surprise myself at the lax approach I have to packing.
Step 1: Six weeks out, start to fret when you get it into your head that you have to take just about every toy that the LGBB looks at in the past month, just in case she has a hankering for it while we're away.
Step 2: Consider telling Steve we should fly. WITH the portacot AND the highchair AND Lolly's three suitcases of toys and stuffed animals. Because you don't think you can stand hearing That Noise** she makes for more than an hour.
Step 3: Three weeks out, booking made at Apartment Of Choice, console yourself with the fact that, as you have done away with the notion of flying (because what if her ears don't pop or your ears don't pop or she hates it or you hate it or Steve wants to sit somewhere other than next to you because you're bleating on about the fact that you don't know if the LGBB's ears have popped), decide that the most important things only must come with, because despite having the roomy Tardis as your transporter there really isn't room for the playgym and the pram and her cot. And your vodka.
Step 4: So, having made your way through steps 1-3, at T-5 days swan about in your pj's, procrastinate as much as you can, live in denial that you're going to get in that car and not get out again for a very. Long. Time. And remind yourself to remind Steve that if he dares do a man-sneeze*** within the confines of the Tardis, his life just may not be worth living anymore.
We're gonna have a ball!
* thank ewe, Talking Heads.
** this surely has been The Noise of a bored, frustrated baby through the sands of time - you know that one, it's whingey and whiney and any mother/female close to the child actually feels physical pain stabbing in her chest if it goes on long enough.
*** possibly the loudest sound in the world, usually carried out when a baby is asleep.
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