Week Five: F**k it, Book it Era

What an amazing week it’s been—equal parts heartwarming and hilariously chaotic, just the way we like it! Grandpa Paul came to stay, and as Hunter’s namesake, he arrived with a twinkle in his eye and a suitcase full of granddad wisdom (and cuddles, naturally). He was determined to make some memories with his little sidekick, and we were all in for a treat.

We kicked things off with a walk—because what better way to bond than a gentle stroll in the sunshine? Except, of course, our chosen café was closed. Cue the dramatic pause. But when life shuts the door on your oat milk flat white, you pivot. To the pub. There’s something delightfully British about swapping a cappuccino for a pint and a pasty from the bakery. Grandpa, ever the gentleman, took one look at his pint and said, “This is not the café experience I was hoping for,” with the kind of dry humour that deserves its own sitcom.

Now, I should mention that Grandpa has new knees. Fancy, titanium-enhanced knees that are great for airport security drama but not so great for hill walks. So when I suggested a scenic route with “just a gentle incline,” I may have oversold it. Halfway up, I realised I’d basically taken him on a mini Everest expedition. He soldiered on like a champ, while I juggled pushchair steering, motivational pep talks, and the creeping guilt of poor route planning. Hunter, meanwhile, was living his best life—snuggled in the pushchair, snoozing like royalty, completely unaware of the uphill battle behind him.

But peace was short-lived. On the way home, Hunter woke up and decided he was not okay with being wheeled away from the action. Cue the meltdown. I tried everything—silly faces, gentle coos, even a rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle” that would make Simon Cowell weep. Nothing worked. He was inconsolable, and I was questioning every life choice that led me to believe this would be a relaxing outing. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Then came the infamous passanda incident. Ah yes, the curry that betrayed me. I’d been dreaming of that creamy, spicy goodness all day, and when it finally arrived, I was giddy with excitement. Fast forward a few hours, and I was curled up in bed, feeling like I’d been hit by a rogue tuk-tuk. Rough doesn’t even begin to cover it. I was still expected to mum, of course—because babies don’t care if you’re green around the gills. Honestly, I would’ve preferred to wrestle a hedgehog than face another nappy change in that state.

But every cloud has a silver lining, and ours came in the form of Hunter’s passport! It’s official—we’re entering our “f**k it, book it” era. I’m already mentally packing beach toys and baby sun hats, dreaming of sandy toes and cocktails (mocktails, let’s be real). The idea of travelling with a baby is equal parts thrilling and terrifying, but hey, if we can survive hill walks and curry catastrophes, we can survive airport queues and baby jet lag… right?

To top it all off, we attended another birthday bash—this time for Hunter’s cousin Ottilie, who turned three in true princess style. The garden was transformed into a magical kingdom, complete with a bouncy castle, tiaras, and enough glitter to make a unicorn weep. Hunter was wide-eyed with wonder, watching the older kids bounce around like caffeinated kangaroos. I could see the gears turning in his little brain: “One day, I too shall bounce.” The buffet was a toddler’s dream, and the cake? Let’s just say it deserved its own crown.

As I watched Hunter soak it all in—his little hands reaching out, his eyes full of curiosity—I felt that familiar tug of pride and awe. He’s growing so fast, experiencing the world one giggle and crumb at a time. Even with the chaos, the curry, and the crying, these are the days I’ll hold close forever.

So here’s to knees that try their best, curry that teaches us humility, and babies who remind us that joy is found in the smallest moments. As the author Katrina Mayer once said, “Time spent with family is worth every second.” And this week, every second was a story worth telling.