It had been a year since I had stepped out of domestic premises for a real holiday. New motherhood does that, and I was its recent victim. Long days and longer nights made sure that my frustration seeped out of my skin and passed on to my husband, like osmosis. He realized he had to plan something nice and quick. And so, he announced one day, “Pack your bags for a 3-day holiday. We’ll go by road.”
Excited is an understatement for what I felt. It was the first trip that we were planning as a family. Plus, I would be out of my house, in new clothes and not pyjamas that I was living in. And I didn’t have to cook or clean, I could breathe in fresh air and relax.
Did I say relax? Maybe I had said it out too loud. Because Murphy’s law played its game well with us. We started off all happy and cheerful with bags in car and baby in hand. But thirty minutes into the drive, our year-old daughter fell sick. The new clothes of mine didn’t stay shiny and fragrant for long. I had her vomit all over me – not just once but twice. We were not prepared for her motion sickness. The four-hour journey seemed an arduous one. The music CDs we carried stayed put in their cases. Our smiles hid behind our worry for the little one. And our relief knew no bounds when we reached our destination, safe and sound.