Sun is shining, head still pounding but more like being hit by a Nissan micra than a double decker bus.
Breakfast was uneventful apart from another explosive vest staining poo – thanks E, Dr Becks travel wash does love your poo. So much, in fact, that s/he thinks it should stay…forever.
With the wind feeling less like a gale force (apart from my bloody arse – one drawback of breakfast buffet fresh fruit), I decide we should brave the beach. With as many plastic beach toys as we can carry, we walk with a very excited 2 year old (he does love to dig dig dig) to the end of the beach. This is where the luxurious looking tents with the comfy sun beds that are reminiscent of my honeymoon (what a world away). Hmm there are quite a few empty so we ponder which one to choose…
“Kalimera”, a hunky tanned man in a white polo shirt approaches. “Kalimera”, I reply, proud that, after almost a week, I now know a Greek word. I am hoping he’s going to hand me the bar menu so I can have my fourth coffee of the day (it’s 10am but truffle pig was out in force last night). Unfortunately, he wanted to check what our room number was to inform us that this area is exclusively for use of the villas (which we are not in) and we needed to go to the less luxurious end of the beach. “Let me help you”. Despite saying it was fine we could push the buggy there, he insisted on “helping” us by bloody frogmarching us off the exclusive luxury bit to the, well not so luxurious, end. Thanks for the humiliation, tithead.
We probably would have been frogmarched off after a bit anyway when B insisted he wanted “an outside wee” and thought it acceptable to throw stoney wet sand on other people’s sunbeds.
Yep, we are more at home here. Less tanned toned bodies and I don’t feel so bloody stupid wearing my 2 year old’s minions cap (I never thought I’d find a benefit of having a ridiculously small head!) because I haven’t got a wide rimmed sexy straw sun hat like some sophisticated mumma.
+Husband (he’s not a sun worshiper – will add to the many reasons why I married him) is digging with B;
+B is happy and covered in sand that’s stuck to him after a slathering of suncream. [Said] “Yes you can squeeze the tube, here you go – stop stop” [not said] “oh ffs – I’m now going to have to cover us all in an inch of factor fucking 50 so as not to waste it.” So no chance of a slightly less translucent skinned mummy returning from holiday then, great.
+ E is refusing a morning nap but is chilled in pushchair watching them.
Happy days – Do I tempt fate by getting my kindle out and lying back on the sunbed. Sod it…..
Oh E, sorry did you see me get a distraction from motherhood and some inkling of my former life out. I do apologise. Here let me make it up to you by moving my suncream smothered stripped (to bikini – brave I know) into the bloody shade to entertain you and hold you up (not quite mastered the sitting up yet – working on it – when I remove her from my hip where she has spent the first 7 months of her life, oh and tummy time – we’ll get to that too!).
Enter super daddy -to take E for a walk up the beach with B to collect stones. And despite the time and freedom to sit in the sun and read my kindle, I choose to watch my beautiful family laughing in the sun and feel happy that an inkling of my former life is enough to make me realise my present one is so much better 😊 and who wants to lie on a beach in some fancy fucking tent anyway!