This week I was chatting to a dear mum friend who told me that one of her lifelong (and child free) friends had pressured her into agreeing to a holiday at a cottage in Wales, a 6 hour drive away. My friends baby is just about to turn one, the same age as my own babe, and the cottage is in the middle of no-where – the only buildings for miles around are the two adjoining cottages. Which are currently undergoing major structural renovations. I can’t lie, my mouth fell open as she told me this. My idea of hell is a long car journey with Sausage Chops. The husband and I have gone about 100 miles as a family, but that was done at strategic times, included multiple stops and boobing in petrol stations. A drive which would take 6 hours without an infant would take at least 15+ hours avec child. And unless for an unavoidable or urgent purpose, I do not think would be in the best interest of my child.
I appreciate that living a childless life means that at times you as an adult can choose to be more spontaneous and selfish and indulgent, but let me tell you this: being stuck in a semi-constructed farm outbuilding in the middle of nowhere with a screaming, sleep-avoiding, snotty toddler is not fun. Neither is running out of bum wipes in the middle of a 5-poo day with not so much as a tesco metro within 50 miles. No one wants that on their holiday, no one. So I think it’s quite ok to say no to things that we know in our hearts are not in the interest of our children, for us, them, and all those who share our air space.