Recaro called a diary meeting for us to plan our holiday week. This is a holiday at home… where we get to enjoy where we live, catch up with friends AND celebrate our birthdays which happen to fall in the same week. So far, we are planning to
- visit my dad
- visit friends in Derbyshire
- meet Peaches’ godmother for lunch at Camber Sands
- have dinner with our neighbours at The Sportsman
- play golf
- have dinner with each other at JoJos
- watch Wall-E or The Dark Knight at the cinema
- cook dinner for another couple of neighbours
That busy agenda leaves us with three babysitting requirements. Lindiloo will babysit while we eat at the Sportsman, Granny will babysit while we go to the cinema… and Rose will babysit for the afternoon and overnight while Recaro and I play golf and go out to dinner.
This is when Recaro starts in on wanting us to play golf with his friends. Which is fine. They are great guys and I’ve played golf with them a few times before, but Recaro is insistent that they’ll only play in the morning because they have to be back in the Bubble by early afternoon. He won’t even ask if they’ll play a shorter course later in the day.
Gah – in one horrible moment I feel the weight of a babysitting demon on my chest. Despite the full pressure of Recaro’s puppy eyes and keen expectation, I feel the rising tension of a teenage temper tantrum where someone is trying to get me to do something I don’t like. If I’d been tired I might have cried, but I’m pleased to say I didn’t. I was just straightforward and clear.
‘I don’t want to ‘offload’ Peaches at 10.30am until the next morning. It’s not fair on Rose and not fair on Peaches. Or me. I don’t want to not see her for that length of time when we are all on holiday together.’
Recaro keeps emphasising that months ago, I had been enthusiastic about playing golf with his friends. Gah – again. What do I do in the face of pressure from husband to ABANDON my beautiful, lovely, happy daughter for a game of golf with guys who… get to play golf all the time anyway.
Well obviously Peaches won. As if I could let her down. I don’t think I’m being clingy, she’s going to have a fun afternoon with Rose and I get to pick her up as early as I like the next day. Recaro can go and play with his friends another day during that week, while I spend time potty training Peaches.
You think I got a raw deal there? Well, maybe it is first time potty training naivety, but I think it’ll be easier to tackle potty training on my own without Recaro chipping in with the, ‘Euw. It’s all messy, can’t we just keep her in nappies until she’s 18?’
I suspect Recaro is going to be bear a niggly grudge about this for sometime. It’s because he knows we would have fun being footloose for the day, doing the kind of things that we used to do pre-Peaches. All that stuff was great, but I’m a sucker for every happy smile and open look of adoration I get from Peaches. I’ve heard teenagers aren’t always so effervescent with happiness – the more of these moments I get in the bank, the better.