The Important Thing
When faced with a challenging situation, it’s advisable to adjust perspective, by hooking it to the direst thing you can think of, and then viewing the soup you’re in from that point of view. I guarantee that after a moment, you’ll shrug your shoulders (or equivalent) and think, hey this ain’t half as bad as it could’ve been. This philosophical assessment held me in excellent stead last week when during a short holiday, both Darling Husband and Adorable Baby caught a stomach bug and were emitting foul smelling liquid from both ends. Not enough time has passed for me to recount the tale with a chuckle, but what’s life if it can’t cheer others up, eh, so here goes.
Magic Happened, A Bit
I was sceptical from the start. When I travel for the long haul, I expect to end up somewhere far away and fabulous, like in the lap of my family in India, after an 8-to-10-hour journey. Not in f***ing Cornwall after 7 hours door-to-door, that too via train, that too in f***ing March when the weather’s mostly rainy and windy and so cold that you have to layer the thermals. Excuse the f-words – like I said, I still haven’t fully recovered. Darling Husband said he wanted to challenge the boy, show him the sea, and expand his world. Sure, I said, thinking it can’t be that bad, we’re only going for 3 days, and the weather forecast across the UK was bad, so it would’ve been the same everywhere. It was as I expected – bleak, pebbly beaches with the moody Atlantic Ocean. The view from the warm hotel lounge though was beautiful. The one day when the sun came out, it was truly magical.
What Goes Up Must Come Down
Lulled by the magic, Darling Husband extended the trip to the charming St Ives for two days. We decided to blow the budget on a room that had steps leading down to the beach. After half a day’s sun, everything went to pot. Leo caught a tummy bug and passed it on to Darling Husband. Inevitably, my (insanely, amazingly robust) Indian constitution meant I remained immune to whatever was afflicting the boys. Outside, a piercing wind blew accompanied by rain – so much for a beach-front room. Inside, my husband hugged the toilet and both he and Leo vomited, pooped, slept in a seemingly endless cycle. We had a heap of vomit-soaked towels in the bathroom and wet laundry on all the radiators and chair-backs. Amidst all this, I thought hey, it could’ve been worse. At least I wasn’t ill. At least they were both alive, albeit buoyed purely by my mother’s long-distance prayers I was sure, but still alive. At least it meant that our carpets at home escaped Leo’s projectile vomits!
In The End
If he could’ve he would’ve burned every piece of clothing from the trip. But in the real world, Darling Husband meticulously washed everything again and still shudders at anything that reminds him of the holiday. Something similar happened in Srinagar four years ago and he hasn’t been back in India since. Portugal before that, and we haven’t been there again either. He said it was like going places, only to put them on a list of never-to-be-visited-again places. Anyway, Darling Husband and Leo are still not 100 percent, and though my super-woman status in my head is stronger than ever, it comes without fanfare and plaudits – it’s just all in a day’s (endless) work for a mother.
(The author is a former TV journo and currently the Head of Communications and Marketing at Anthemis Group in London. She became Mama to baby Leo in April 2015. She started this blog as an outlet for the intense, roller-coaster experience that pregnancy and motherhood entail. And for recording the journey with as much humour – black mostly – as she can cram in. Oh and dispensing free gyan as she ticks the been there, done that milestones.)
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