Holiday time

So my Nana is going to be 70 this on the 28th of April, so, I decided to book a flight up with me and the girls to surprise her, take her for a meal and what not. Sounds lovely, she live 2 minutes from the beach, is surrounded by fields and playgrounds, all in all it’s a lovely place.

But here is the thing, I’m taking both girls on a plane, by myself. No man help in sight. It’s Mojos first time on a plane but Eldest has been on many times. Taking a toddler, or a child 3+ seems so easy to me right now. The first time I took Eldest on a plane she was just 6 months old, she was taken off me & at one point a nappy search was mentioned, which I refused, you can scan her any which way, but I can tell you now, you aren’t taking her nappy off in front of all these strangers. Eventually, after rubbing bum cream on my hand, drinking 1oz of milk and using a baby wipe on my face we were allowed on our way.

This was around the time that airports had really cracked down on passenger safety.

This time I’m sure it will be less difficult.

Then there is the packing, so far I’ve packed 4 dresses, 2 jeans, 2 jumpers, 2 tights and 7 pairs of underwear (Eldest) 7 vests (Mojo)… So it isn’t going terribly well. I was going for less clothes to fuss about capsule wardrobe, but the bag is already not looking very big, I’m not sure where all my things will go. I might just wear them all at the same time, be a nightmare at check-in but saves on space?

Another thing, in order to get through the bleepers without taking shoes off, coats off and getting half naked I just wear flip flops/pumps, and as little else possible while trying to retain the dignity I sometimes start my day with.  Rest assured that most of these male attendants will have no idea they make the ordeal so difficult by simply doing their jobs and how by the end of it, I’ll be sitting in the lounge, red faced slightly clammy, with a boob out of the bra cup, Eldest telling me I’m all red (she has a running commentary going the whole time she is awake), Mojo trying to pull my top down laughing and biting like a feral demon child. If I’m really unlucky there will be a snot/poo scenario to consider too. I also don’t like flying.

I’m looking forward to it but I really wish airports would have a ‘parent friendly’ zone. One where the queue doesn’t sigh at you when you have to unhitch your child from you with fiddly clips, or chase your child under barriers, where the poo smell could be coming from anyone there, not just your spawn, where these people know that children can take 45 minutes to put 1 shoe on when you’re in a rush. Oh, and in the lounge is a Nanny ready to take your child while you sob in the corner drinking non-alcoholic wine, because you’re still on duty.

Just a thought.

Zara

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