Have you ever had those moments where you realise that childhood experiences you COMPLETELY took for granted were in fact GARGANTUAN feats of planning and preparation on the parts of your parents and not, as you presumed, your god-given right as a small human being??
In trying to prepare for the much-anticipated trip-to-meet-her-Auntie, Tilly, the selfish wench, has entirely expected us, her thankless parents, to orchestrate her travel to and survival in Washington DC for the next 8 days. She hasn’t raised a single finger to offer assistance in the week long frenzy of washing, sorting, list-making and buying that has occupied our existence since Easter.
How my mother managed this on a regular basis (with a pilot dad and us living in the US with British family to visit, trans-Atlantic flight was a pretty regular occurrence in my childhood) with three/four children and often on unbooked, last minute seats scattered around the plane… I will never know.
We have sufficient muslins, babygros, milk powder and sunhats in small sizes to open a local nursery school, while the Boy and I are likely to wear the same three items of clothing on rotation for 8 days. We can only assume that the varying degrees of vomit, sweet potato and poop will single us out as ‘new parents' as well as ‘tourists’…
Oh hell.
The Boy has never been to the East Coast and is OBSESSED with the West Wing so I will be sending him on reccies to find President Bartlett while I wait in a variety of locations to see if Bradley Whitford may want to discuss important campaign issues with a young Mum with a beguiling accent.
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