Bula!

Having been absent from the blogosphere (no, Mum, I did not make that word up) for a couple of weeks, I'm returning with a whopper. The latest in my 'try new things' mission has been an intrepid journey to the coconut-palm-lined beaches of sunny Fiji, thanks to my incredibly kind-hearted and generous parents who shouted us a holiday for our 30th birthdays.

I'll try not to brag too much, but with temperatures hovering around the 29 degree mark, a swimming pool that wound its way invitingly around the resort (complete with pool bar and white-sand beaches), silky smooth water at the beach, which was two steps away, and a full buffet breakfast to kick off each day, it's hard not to boast. Sipping my Fijian Warrior cocktail (which I mistakenly reported to be called a Dark Fijian to the elderly lady next to me, much to her amusement) whilst lying on a lounger by a pool reading a magazine, I could have died a happy woman.

Our little family stayed at the Radisson on Denerau Island, an incredibly family-friendly resort, as evidenced by the full laundry facilities in each room and the multitudes of little kiddies (some of whom came complete with full-time Fijian babysitters). Sure, you probably wouldn't want to stay here if you didn't have kids, but for us it was perfect.

Now, before I paint an overly rosy picture I should mention that holidaying with a 6-month-old and a 2-year-old is no picnic. As one of the mums by the pool put it as she sipped her Blue Hawaiian, 'Same shit, different place.' Our toddler pulled out all the stops to ensure that her parents couldn't completely relax: grizzling, tantrums, grizzly tantrums, refusing to carry out simple tasks and employing the 'no' word at every opportunity.  And our 6-month-old still sleeps about four times a day, forcing one of us to hang around inside for hours at a time, imagining all the fun to be had just a few steps away from the room.

I know what you're thinking - 'shut up, you got to go to Fiji.' And perhaps I should. Suffice to say that next time (and there will be a next time) we'll be bringing some friends along to ensure that we get some adult time to balance out the holiday.

Three days sans toddler

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No, the lack of words in the sentences above isn't a website malfunciton. I'm just enjoying the sound of silence while I’ve still got it. This weekend has seen a seismic split in our family; my husband has taken my toddler away to a family bach, leaving me here at home with our five-month-old while I recuperate from a throat infection. Aaaah, the blissful silence. Aaaaah, the blissful tidiness. Aaaaaah, the blissful opportunity to catch up on all those chores jostling for my attention. OK, so chores aren’t blissful as such, but the resulting order in our previous chaotic household is – and this isn’t an exaggeration – my personal nirvana.

My to-do list at the beginning of the weekend extended on to three pages, and, happily, very nearly each and every ‘to do’ has a jaunty little tick next to it. A random sample: clean the microwave, do the taxes, tidy each bedroom, sort out the playroom, write thank you notes… Bored yet? I haven’t been. I have set to with a joyful hustle-bustle not seen since Scrubbing Day on the Pippi Longstocking film (which, if you haven’t seen it, is very highly recommended… or at least it was totally awesome when I was 8).

I’ve also – touch wood – managed to sort out my baby’s rather antisocial habit of expecting a meal at 4am. With no fear of the toddler being woken up by the baby’s, ahem, plaintive bleats, I was able to deny said meal until 6.30am. (Strange things go through your head while trying to ignore your baby’s wails. My mind wandered away from ‘am I a neglectful mother’ territory on to much more important things such as who would come out on top in a battle between the sandpit and the vacuum cleaner. Conclusion: the sandpit; the vacuum cleaner would clog up and stop working before the sandpit was empty. One more fascinating tidbit: if you cough into your pillow, as is necessary when you are trying to make as little sound as possible so your baby isn’t woken up the moment she appears to have finally stopped crying, it provides a rather lovely warm circle for your ear to rest when you lay your head back down.) I should mention that I didn’t let her cry for two and a half hours – when I realised that she wasn’t just going to go back to sleep, I gave her a cuddle and a nappy change, and she went off to sleep after a just a little bit more complaining. The following night she didn’t wake till 5am, and after a quick cuddle was off to sleep again, ready for a feed at the socially acceptable time of 6.30am. Could we have knocked this on the head? Only time will tell.

So my ‘new thing’ this week was to experience three consecutive nights and days without a toddler. I’m happy to say that while I have immensely enjoyed the relative peace and quiet, I am well and truly ready for her to come spinning, dancing and tumbling her way back into my house any minute now. I can’t wait to play with her and hear all about her holiday. I am looking forward to hearing her little voice speak its hilarious malapropisms. I am even keen to hide under a stuffy blanket from the bear/lion/witch that is coming down the driveway. Welcome back, little girl.