So it’s that time of year again…
Time to book a holiday. Something before having a baby I used to really look forward to…
*pause for hysterical laughter which slowly turns into pathetic tears*
I quite clearly established my feelings on holidaying with WallyBubba as a baby last year, with the over-riding sentiment that it is in fact SHIT and not worth the bastard hassle… But…. That was before I had begun to appreciate what life with a toddler was like…. *flinches*
In fact, I’m not really sure what the bloody hell I was complaining about before she could move, shout and take the cats out with one punch… Her nappies were the size of napkins, she couldn’t communicate, or use cutlery, and go all stabby… All she really did was sleep, drain my boobs and produce runny yellow presents…
Now. However. She comes with an arsenal of toys that Hamleys would be proud of, eats everything by first smashing it into her hair, and terrifies woodland creatures and the elderly with her impressive sprint/scream combos… So choosing a holiday has taken rather more tears, I mean thought, this year…
So here is my list of Toddler Holiday Requirements:
- CRECHE: I want a ‘holiday’. And by this I mean I want to lie down, in silence, in the sun, with some gin, and some spare gin, looking thin… ok – pretending I look thin with my eye closed doing that sucky-in thing with my tummy… While my child is in the care of someone who hasn’t already read the Farm Flap book 30 times that morning and really couldn’t give a shit if Tom finds his puppy. So yes, call me selfish, but f@*k the puppy – MUMMY NEEDS A TAN.
- TODDLER- ONLY POOL: Reckon she’s less likely to drown. Or be stamped on by nine-year olds. Boom.
- NO BEACH: Awesome for people who know sand isn’t a food group… not so good for toddlers. For whom it’s a PLETHORA of DOOM involving DEATH IN EVERY DIRECTION. Might be slightly over-exaggerating with that one…
- LARGE BALCONY/TERRACE: I like to think of this as an OUTDOOR CAGE. With places for Mummy and Daddy to lie down. Judgement free. #fistpump
- HIGHCHAIRS: Have you ever tried to feed an 18 month old without a highchair? There is only so much lasagne I can wear before I begin to cry. Really cry. Until even the gin starts to leave my body… and if that happens we’re all f@*ked.
- DOUBLE ROOMED SUITE: I will NOT sleep in the same room as a naked, snoring, snorting, cajoling, teddy-hugging bed-hogger. No. WallyDaddy needs his own room.
- ALL INCLUSIVE: #ginontap I don’t think I need to say anything else…
- SOFT-PLAY: Just two hours a day can give you the equivalent in buggy-time – just long enough for me and WallyDaddy to make a dent in the cocktail menu. A big #gin dent.
- MULTIPLE RESTAURANTS: We get barred. Quite often. Best to spread the love. Don’t want to risk the first ever toddler/food-fight related ASBO.
Feel free to print these out because clearly they are f@*king genius and there will probably be a fight between First Choice and Thomas Cook over who gets to post it in their holiday advice section first. Yeah. That’ll happen. Yeah.