Week Seven: Searching for a Break
Seven weeks. Seven weeks of loving my son, seven weeks of navigating a completely new version of my life, and seven weeks of my washing machine working so hard it’s practically begging for union representation. I mean, surely I’m not the only one with a borderline obsessive reaction to the smell of baby vomit? The tiniest dribble and I’m stripping Hunter like he’s about to enter a hazmat zone. Fresh outfit, fresh bib, fresh everything—because nothing says “newborn mum” like sniffing your own shoulder mid-day and wondering if that’s milk or just despair.
But this leads me quite nicely to the real question: how on earth does a mum manage everything? Seriously. There are not enough hours in the day. We wake up with Hunter, wash and change him, feed him, play with him, and then settle him for a nap. And this, apparently, is when I’m meant to nap too. Ha! Cute idea. This is actually when I:
Wash and sterilise bottles
Express milk (in peace, if I’m lucky)
Feed the dogs
Tidy up
Pop a load of washing on
Hoover
Attempt a shower or—dare I dream—a bath (a long soak, glass of wine, candlelight, and maybe some Norah Jones if I’m feeling fancy)
Work on my NMC revalidation
Write this blog
And tackle the mountain of admin that seems to regenerate like a hydra every time I tick something off
It’s hard. Really hard. But one thing I don’t negotiate is my time with Hunter. He gets my undivided attention, and watching him grow and learn is honestly the most magical thing I’ve ever experienced. This week, he’s started tracking objects with his eyes, responding to voices more consistently, and even cooing—those sweet little baby sounds that make your heart do backflips. He’s also getting stronger, pushing up during tummy time like he’s preparing for baby yoga. Seven-week-old milestones are no joke—he’s becoming more alert, more expressive, and more Hunter every day.
But I’ll be honest… we need a break. A proper one. Somewhere with sun, sea, and maybe a cocktail that isn’t served in a sippy cup. We’ve started looking—Europe? Canada to visit Uncle Matty? We’re not fussy. We just need to escape the mundane and regroup. It feels like a waste not to use Hunter’s shiny new passport ASAP. Eeeek!
Of course, booking a holiday with a baby isn’t as simple as clicking “confirm”. There’s a whole new layer of logistics to consider:
Will Hunter sit on my lap or need his own seat?
Do I need to take the car seat?
What hire companies are baby-friendly?
How do I express and store milk abroad?
Should I invest in a “hand luggage” stroller?
What if he gets sick?
What if I get sick?
What if the plane is delayed and I run out of nappies and sanity?
Parental anxiety is a beast. I now think about things I never even considered before—like whether the hotel has blackout curtains or if the local pharmacy stocks gripe water. I’ve become a walking checklist with a baby attached.
But while I’m listing all the things I do while Hunter sleeps, let me just say this: it doesn’t matter if the chores don’t get done. It doesn’t matter if you stay in pyjamas all day. It doesn’t matter if your hair is unbrushed and you smell like an armpit (okay, maybe lightly like an armpit—there’s deodorant for that). What matters is your sanity. Your joy. Your ability to absorb the moment. Because everyone tells you, you blink and they’re 18. And I believe them.
So booking a holiday isn’t just about escaping—it’s about creating memories. Starting Hunter’s journey as an explorer early. Showing him the world, one baby step at a time. And yes, it’ll be chaotic. And yes, I’ll probably forget something vital like my toothbrush or dignity. But it’ll be worth it.
Week seven has been a whirlwind of love, laundry, and longing for a break. Stay tuned for week eight—who knows, maybe we’ll be writing from a beach in Portugal or a cabin in the Canadian Rockies. Either way, adventure awaits. And we’re ready.
