Ok, maybe that’s slightly harsh. I did indeed have a few great hours on our first holiday away to Portugal. Granted these few fleeting moments involved me being by myself at the pool, balls deep in a book and with a lolly in hand but those minutes were like gold dust! For the DILFs stupid enough to think a holiday abroad is a good idea, read on!
- We did not drug our daughter for the flight, she just does that face when she knows something we don’t. Everyone will look at you as you walk down the plane, smelling of fear, and yes, they are thinking “please don’t sit next to me” but bring an iPad loaded with 500 hours of Disney films and you might just make it through.
- How does a baby with clothes 1/9th the size of an adult require a bigger case? There’s one for you Brian Cox.
- You can never put enough suncream on a baby. They will be in the shade wearing something less revealing than a burka and four hats but the wife will still insist on more cream for the skin we can’t see. The bottle says not for internal use but we probably did break those rules during the lathering process.
- Pools used to be about somersaults and spotting hot ladies in minimalist swimwear. Now you sit in the kids pool comprised of 50% wee, 40% chlorine and last but not least, a 10% mixture of water, leaves, bugs and more wee.
- You don’t spend time with your significant other on holiday. It’s called shift patterns. One of you has a holiday while the other walks a pram the length of Europe. The game is to see if you can get the baby to sleep before your electrolyte levels drop below fatal and your calves cramp worse than the Guinness book of records pogostick champion.
- It’s worth noting that the pram mentioned in point 5 is not the expensive one you just bought last year that could have been a down payment for a new car. No. You need a holiday pram, which is almost as expensive as the other pram you own but is 1cm smaller and has a better roof. This roof is vital as it stops sunlight landing on the oiled up ninja nestled in the already shady under carriage.
- Bed by 10pm. Sober. Tired. Feeling like you’ve spent the afternoon at Hacksaw Ridge.
- Work calls to me like a drunk ex girlfriend. I can’t wait to embrace routine and a breakfast that doesn’t consist of stale Coco pops and a baguette that looked like it had been kicked here from France. I long for the days my wife gets back to doing her fair share of 90% of the parenting while I bluff through life convincing her dad that this handsome addition to their family isn’t a complete useless tit. Mother Ireland, show me your bossoms!