Sleep Deprivation on our Summer Holiday

Stuck in a 12 mile traffic jam, somewhere on the A30, east of Cornwall, two sets of parents, in two separate cars, were experiencing two very different starts to their holiday.

In the precision packed Vauxhall Estate, an impeccably coiffed 19 month old baby girl named “Poff” was perusing her mobile library, contemplating whether “Cornwall: Leisure Walks for All Ages” or “Truro and Falmouth – Roseland Peninsula” would be stimulating enough to amuse her for the rest of the journey.

In the VW hatchback behind, it was hard to tell just how many people were in the car thanks to the ‘ram and squish’ packing policy of the driver. Despite the limited amount of air pockets, the smallest, yet most audible, passenger was selfishly gulping down oxygen as his initial grumblings were upgraded to ear-popping howls.

By mile 11, Poff put down her book which she’d found to be a thoroughly informative read. She couldn’t wait to tell Mummy about the route she’d planned for the family hike but she’d wait until Mummy finished her nap.

In the other car, Mummy No 2 was keeping a glazed eye out for the nearest lay by. She knew that hitchhiking was illegal but thought, under the deafening circumstances, she’d take her chances.

Unfortunately for Mummy and Daddy No 2, this proved the perfect introduction for what was to come. Chickie, indisposed to alterations to his established routine, repaid our kindness of allowing him to remain in the car despite my suggestion of giving him some “time out” on the roof rack, by going on poo, sleep and hunger strike.

Admittedly, he’s always on poo strike although he did release a sausage shaped souvenir into their shared bath. Unfortunately for Poff, it wasn’t detected until it was too late. Five more baths, three showers and a rub down with Dettol were incorporated into the decontamination process. Seemingly inspired by the possibilities an unprotected bottom presented, Chickie then did a nice big wee in the doorway of Wuce's room.

Next came the conjunctivitis. Two more outlets to add to his ‘oozing illuminous yellow goo’ list. Eye drop administration proved trickier than anticipated as Chickie decided he hated them more than anything else he’d ever come across before, ever! His response to scream and writhe as if being murdered, whilst doing kung fu moves and wild head butts. Accountant was employed as resident heavy, instructed to hold down all flailing bits whilst I endeavoured to jimmy his eyes open.

By the end of the week, tired and withdrawn, we presented the “Best in Show” Award for the second year running, to the Poff who had outperformed in every category. Compliance, Attitude, Slumber, Sanitation & Hygiene, Regularity & Ease of Bowel Movements, Consumption, Vocabulary, Critical Reasoning, Congeniality and General Well Being. As she took her lap of honour, hindered slightly by her covering of red rosettes, Chickie was busy trying to peel off the sellotape covering the plug sockets after his foiled attempt to insert a key into one earlier in the week.

Now back in his own home, fully equipped with a full catalogue of health and safety products a child prone to kamikaze activities requires, I’m hoping the comfort of the familiar will lull him back to the sweet child of a week ago.

Later that evening, whilst administering eye drops to the household's second baby, whose eyes had begun to fill with a suspiciously familar gunk over the course of the evening, it became clear Chickie wasn't the only whingey bum in the family.

Cornwall 2007