What do you think of when you think of a vacation? Sun, sand, a margarita or two.... a lazy day on the beach, sundowner beers, oceans of sex, cute boys in short shorts? Me too. What I got? Projectile vomit for 48 ours, blood dripping everywhere after a nasty razor accident and hurricanes in nappies, all in 38 degree heat. JOY!
So we packed furiously - I mean furiously - Husband and I rowed so badly that at one point I wasn't going AT ALL, thank you very much. We managed to stuff 10 days worth of baby food and nappies into a suitcase or 3, the steriliser was all set and off we went in the pissing rain. Just a cab, 2 train journies, a 4 hour flight and a 20 min cab journey and we'd be there. The longest hours of my life I tell you. Did Sproglette drink her lovely calpol and zonk out on the flight as I hoped? Did she heck. She just whinned and screamed and kicked up such a fuss I was waiting for us to be ejected out the emergency exit by 176 disgruntled passengers. We arrived - ahhh I thought - this is more like it, as I gazed at the large lobby replete with fountain and orchds. But we were at the wrong hotel. Fabulous - particularly after a hairy car ride with no child seat for a by now, apoplectic Sproglette.
Two trips in a mini car and we were at the correct and not quite as glitzy hotel. To our room - the size of a box and stiflingly warm. Air con on - full - 'that should solve it' said Husband. Cut to 4am Husband putting on a light to find his shoes to march to reception to complain about the unbearable heat in the room (a dodgy hairdryer on cool mode would have provided a colder breeze). By dawn none of us had slept - we were tired, grubby, grumpy and hungry. First at breakfast - and full of woe. Typical Brits abroad - glad we lived up to our tarnished reputation. We rang the holiday company as Husband kept announcing how we should 'just go home' and then a miracle - they said they would move us. Not only moving us, but upgrading us to the private villas area. This kind of thing NEVER happens to me. All those stories of flight upgrades are for me an urban myth. Even on our honeymoon we got nothing in the way of upgrades. I love the word 'upgrade' and am delighted that finally it has entered my life.
We tried to re-pack at speed and whilst searching for the laptop cable, I squealed in joy to think I had found it in husband's case - only to discove the elecric shock feeling was in fact my flesh being torn off - the tip of a finger in fact by Husband's uncovered razor. Blood abounded. Later he found shreds of dried bloodied skin amongst the blades. I behaved like a 5 year old. No, Sproglet is better than me, I behaved like a 2 year old. I think I may have even stamped a foot...
We waited in the heat for the removal man to appear on his jolly cart and eventually he did. We arrived at nirvana. A huge room, walk in shower, private pool and private beach area and utter peace. Blissed out Husband and I remembered to be nice to each other. All went well for oh, 2 hours - that is until Sproglette vommed up her breakfast. And lunch and every bottle that came her way. Blankets covered in sick, bed sheets, floors. Outfits came on for 2 minutes and then hastily left. She was racing through her summer wardrobe in minutes. My fingers still hurt, and bled. What fun we were having! Must buy postcards to tell everyone at home what a great time was being had... That night Sproglette howled through our attempts at dinner, aborted as soon as Sproglet had stuffed pasta down his gullet, and we drank ourselves to sleep on cheap red wine. Just then her bottom exploded. The stench was the most unholy smell to grace my nostrils since the stinkbomb craze of '81. And so the nappy severe weather warning continued. The spectrum of colours of yellow and green. After 2 days of this joy - vomit in restaurant, check. Vomit over buggy, check. Vomit over second round of sheets on Mummy and Daddy's bed, check - Husband and I felt a tad distraught. I had raging PMT and he had raging PUWST (putting up with sick tension). Apart from a joyous sundowner swim with Sproglet and a few stolen kisses with Husband in between his new cigarette habit, I hadn't had the most memorable time. Then in the dark air conditioned night we heard a small voice. 'I sick...' Oh yes, not to outdone, Sproglet had vommited everywhere. (This followed a sudden bottom expulsion when he was swimming earlier on - that had (thank the lord) stayed in his trunks, for me to fish out and dispose of in between the violent nappies). Life is just one long shit-fest over here in sunny Crete. Just as we finished cleaning up his sick, and bedded him in with us, we heard the mighty rumblings in Sproglettte's nappy once more.
Paper scissors stone - who would change the latest horror? Who cares, potato/potata -- your turn would come soon enough. Husband held her legs in the air as I tried not to breathe. We all eventually slumbered. Today Sproglet has vommed 5 times - pre and post breakkie. Sproglette has whinned and whinned but at last produced what could be considered as a normal nappy. She is currently sleeping, as is Husband. I have taken my sore fingers out of the salt pool and have managed an hour of uninterrupted snorkelling. Oh yes. It is a holiday, remember. Sproglet is in love with the kids club, which makes me slightly jealous of it - I want him back, vom and all thanks. Fingers crossed the bug will have passed. Unless of course it is waiting to hit husband and I. Mind you, losing a few pounds is never bad. Not sure I have enough summer clothes to weather the whole shebang or not. So, holidays. Great idea. All those cocktails and sex and late night dancing. In my dreams...
PS Update: Sproglet is all better. Sproglette has cut another tooth and is full diva form again. Husband and I are on tanning rota - 20 mins for you, ok 20 mins for me. We are getting a sitter for Fri night when we plan to sink martinis and try and engage in some non kid/sick related chat. The sun is shining, a cool breeze is blowing, the kids are happy and finally, so are we.