Looking back on my childhood the summer holidays were amazing. Ice creams, parks, beaches, annual Gullivers Kingdom trip…just fun everywhere. Even for the first part of my adult life they were still a lovely time of year – no traffic going to work, no traffic coming home and the weather was as nice as typical British summer gets.
Then I had kids.
I don't feel that way anymore. I fucking hate the summer holidays.
Everywhere I take Sophia I'm surrounded by something I don't think I could actually hate any more if I tried… other people's children (bar a few). And they're everywhere. The softplay I once used as a sanctuary now overgrown with children far too old to be there. Children who push my meek little toddler over or just completely overwhelm her.
Parks packed unless you go obscenely early.
The swimming baths even operating a second wristband strategy for the toddler pool – having to wait in the bigger, colder pool til someone leaves the splash pool is not easy with a little baby and a toddler itching for the slide.
I dare not even attempt a Pizza Hut buffet.
And it's for 6 whole weeks! So what do I even do for 6 weeks? We get cabin fever after staying home a few days let alone weeks. There's only so much playing in the garden and table arts and crafts in the world. Apparently it's bad form to just stick them in front of the tv all day too. So every day is "what the hell are we doing today?"
I'm out of ideas already, and without playgroup to tire her out she's sleeping less at night.
And I have to do this shit over and over again. Every. Single. Year. For another decade.
Send help. My eye bags are growing back.
Playdates & Milkshakes 