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| Talk,
Julie Miller,
16 January 1999 | |
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I'm just back from a weeks holiday in Portugal with three girlfriends and our daughters. Three babies under two, and one child under four! And the the fact is, I have never felt so exhausted in all my life. Not only could I not raise the energy to go to work two days after my return, but was woken up in the night with all the symptoms of an impending serious illness. Sweating hands aching limbs, and a headache which even twice the normal dose of Nurofen couldn't touch. Never again, I groaned in my sleep. And yet just a week ago we had left Gatwick bound for Faro with more high hopes and holiday reading than is good for you.
The Villa is owned by my friend Glenda and her husband, they have lived there for just over a year and love it. I can see why. The moment we arrived at the beautifully arranged villa, with its panoramic views over the Portuguese countryside we all agreed what a good idea the all girl holiday had been.
Set up in the mountains where the air is cooler, for the first three days of our trip it was bloody freezing! Following the popular misconception that anywhere other than England is hot in May, we were of course totally ill-equipped for temperatures below 800. We sat shivering by the pool drinking coffee and comparing stretch marks, while the babies fought it out between them. Ellie - the oldest of the three babies in particular (on Mission Mutilation) would pretend to be hugging and stroking the other two until our backs where turned, at which point skin was pinched and hair was tugged. Nice one. Ellie was also good at finding things. If there's a tub of Sudacrem missing Ellie will find it, open it, and use it. The favourite was to paint it thickly on surrounding walls and furniture. Give Ellie a pen and she'll show you how to draw, on the walls, on the floor, and at her most creative Biro spirals on the coffee table (such talent!)
Sophie - the youngest of the lot but the most robust. Sophie liked to eat. Everything that was placed in front of her was stuffed down before there was time to say pardon. Handfuls of sand, stones, paper, even live ants! Any texture or flavour animal or mineral, Sophie would scoff it down. She had a belly that would put even the most professional lager lout to shame. (Her Mum no longer worries or cares about the potential long-term effects of sand swallowing). This is what motherhood does.
Rhianna meanwhile - the middle Baby decided that wherever Mummy went - she would follow. Accompanied by her bottle, comfort shawl, and the full family of Tellytubbyies. She clung on to my legs so hard I could no longer walk freely, but shuffled around the Villa with Rhianna demanding to be lifted from the clutches of Ellie.
When the weather finally warmed up to a level which allowed us to venture outside without fleece, we set off for the beach. Sandy beach, raging sea. Death defying drop from one to the other. Heaven for babies. Hell for us. We chased, they ran. We screamed. They squealed. (The ratio of speed to leg size is not correct in babies. If grown-ups could move around at the same speed that babie's legs can take them, there would be no need for the tube, or even fast cars we could all leave our houses in the morning and run squealing up the road, arriving at work well in time for another bowl of Coco Pops, a bottle of full cream milk and quick glance through the Tellytubbie Times before 9 o/c.
Only a few years ago (or so it seems) when my friend and I were single, we had enjoyed many a happy holiday together - when the only problems life offered up was trying to remember where you'd packed your lip gloss or whether any one would notice the Free Complementary Cocktailx stain on your new white T- shirt. Times change and we've moved on but honestly, could life be more stressful?
All the babies woke at 6.00am and kept on going until 8.30pm; that's a long time to be watching them. At 9 o'clock on the dot with the babies tucked up in their cots, we knocked back the vodka and tucked into the Dairy Milk, we watched Sky TV and pored through old copies of Hello, pausing only to comment on just how much weight we would have to loose to look like Liz (bag o' bones) Hurley. That was our time - me and my mates - just like old times except we didn't have to ask whether the latest man had rung, or wonder if we'd ever meet someone who would hang around long enough to take home for Christmas. (The only true sign a man is serious). No in some ways we agreed that what we have now is actually rather nice. Security, sweet messy children, and men to pull crackers with at after the Queen's speech.
After we left Glenda's maid was put on double time for the next week; what a mess the villa was compared to when we had arrived just a week ago. We all agreed as Glenda drove us to the Airport clutching babies and bags, that life now was so very different from those heady days of the 80's - childfree and carefree. But that in reptrospect we wouldn't change a thing.
Not of course that we have a choice.
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