Holiday mummy versus normal mummy
One of my earliest memories is of going to Majorca when I was about three and my mum telling me I could eat and drink whatever I wanted. I had coco pops for breakfast and chips and apple juice for lunch and dinner every day. Sitting here at the airport whilst our flight from France is delayed, and my three kids run feral, I’ve realised that I have two different modes. Holiday mummy and normal mummy.
Normal mummy goes bat shit when the children don’t take their shoes off in the house and smear jam on the chair but holiday mummy doesn’t give a damn. Mainly because it’s not her house and because she’s been on the rosé since lunch time.
Holiday mummy will happily let the children eat burgers every day for a week and doesn’t fret about whether they’ve cleaned their teeth or even had a bath. Normal mummy worries about them getting their five a day and tooth decay.
Normal mummy glances at Instagram briefly in the brief glimpses of time she gets in between getting the children up, breakfasted, taking them to the park, to Sainsbury’s, making lunch, trying to work and dealing with squabbles and frequent trips to the loo. Holiday mummy relies heavily on the husband to oversee the children and doesn’t have to do any of the usual day to day drudge so spends most of the day fannying around on Instagram posting holiday photos and perfecting the ‘spontaneous’ selfie whilst ignoring the children.
Normal mummy stresses about making sure the children have enough to do every day but holiday mummy sticks them in the pool for three hours and thinks about booking somewhere with a kids’ club and handsome waiters next year.
Holiday mummy doesn’t mind the barrage of questions from the five-year-old about what sharks eat, where boobies come from and where Batman’s hair might have gone. Normal mummy loses the will to live on a daily basis when faced with such questions.
Normal mummy tries to go for a run a few times a week and do a postnatal Davina workout (even though the ‘baby’ is now three.) Holiday mummy is like the Hungry Caterpillar and starts the day with a giant pain au chocolat before proceeding to eat and drink her body weight in baguettes, cheese and wine. Holiday mummy is much happier and almost comatose as a result.
Normal mummy tries to make her children looks reasonably smart and presentable on a day to day basis. Holiday mummy doesn’t give a crap if the children don’t brush their hair for days and go around looking like Worzel Gummidge or wear their football kit to the restaurant. Holiday mummy knows her children look feral but doesn’t really care, mainly because of the aforementioned rosé.
I think I probably prefer holiday mummy but I’m not sure she is sustainable, unfortunately, and no doubt we’ll return to business as usual when we finally get back to the UK.