Last week was one of those weeks. You know, the ones you just have to write off as a disaster and move on.
If you scroll through any blogger’s Instagram feed you’d be fooled into thinking they live a perfect family life – and mine, recently, could fall into that category. Lovely smiley photos from trips to the beach, feeding the ducks and eating ice cream. What’s not to like?
But this week has seen none of that. It all started last Saturday, when we came up with the seemingly perfect idea for a day out. “Let’s get the train and go for a walk on the beach with a picnic.” Lovely.
Except that Santi had a meltdown of epic proportions as we were leaving the house … Which, unknown to us was to set the tone for the day. We pressed on regardless, and called on to see my father on the way. He walked us down to the station and waved us off from the platform.
Santi loved being on the train, full of smiles and pointing out the sea and birds as we went.
We got off the train and went to buy some snacks for our picnic … Then it all went downhill. Santi started saying “cold, cold” as we headed to the beach (the wind did suddenly hit us as we turned a corner) so we thought twice about that plan and turned around to pop in with Stew’s mother instead. He’d have a nap there and we could eat our treats, we thought.
By the time we got half way up the road, Santi was screaming non-stop and refusing to walk or be carried by Stew – leaving me, at 22 weeks pregnant, to attempt to hold his weight and trek up the street.
I’m sure you can guess what happened next. There was nobody home when we got to my mother-in-law’s, so we had no choice but to walk back to the station, with 30 minutes until the next train home.
By the time we got there, Santi was inconsolable and the only thing we could do was try and get him to sleep. I thought this would be impossible as he hasn’t napped on either of us for months … But this was the result of a few minutes of shushing…
So, I ended up with crumbs in my hair as we ate on the platform (and we’re far enough away from the Instasham now for me to admit my lovingly prepared picnic was in fact a Jenkins spicy chicken pasty and pancake.
The rest of the week fared no better. It turned out Santi’s meltdowns were due to him not being very well, and by Wednesday we’d had very little sleep and there was no way he could go to nursery. So, I took the day off work and ended up stranded on the sofa with a little furnace burning through my dressing gown pondering Cbeebies’ great mysteries.
We’ve all asked why Bing is so much bigger than Flop, but this week I’ve been left wondering why Pando takes his shorts off every time they get to the park and plays in just his pants. And how on earth hasn’t Postman Pat been fired for all his incompetancies? Using a helicopter to deliver a bouncy castle?! How much did that set the Special Delivery Service back?!
Anyway, I digress. Stew then stayed home on Thursday and had a marginally better day as they at least made it out of the house … But by Friday night the week had taken its toll and we were all shattered (and grumpy). This was not helped by a 5am wake up call on Saturday!
So that’s the reality of parenting. You set off on a lovely day out with visions of playing on the sand, and end up with a poorly toddler who refuses to move from your lap … Until you get to the doctor’s surgery and they suddenly find the energy to run lengths of the waiting room.
Thankfully, he’s much better now – but if I wasn’t pregnant I have a sneaky suspicion it might have been a wine kind of weekend…