Sunday. It’s a day we all love. Nicole Kidman famously named her daughter after the 7th day of the week, and this one was as relaxing (albeit kids running around like crazy) as any normal one.
I was almost 8 months pregnant with my second son, and up in Gayndah, a cute, small rural town in QLD. I was visiting my older sister, Sarah, her family and my mum and step-dad.
My son Hendrix accompanied me on this trip. I’m sure any parent can appreciate what a nightmare flying was. Sitting on a plane while heavily pregnant and irritable as hell is only made worse when you’re taking care of a teething 8 month old on your own. He has travelled a lot with me and been on quite a few plane trips for his age, but this just wasn’t my lucky flight. I was seriously dreading the return leg.
However, my beautiful nephews Tristen, 8, and Tyler, 3, were having a great time hanging out with their baby cousin “Hendy” and any time for me spent with my family is time I truly appreciate. So it was definitely worth it.
Rewind to our “big” Saturday night. My darling sister cooked me dinner (always the care-taker, making sure my unborn baby and I were well fed and looking after my son for me so I could relax) and as she lives on a big property, we all decided we’d stay up past the usual 8pm bedtime and go enjoy the stars.
We had a bonfire in the backyard, which was safely blocked by a barrier and the kids could roast marshmallows. We set up camp, sang a little Kumbaya, (by Kumbaya I mean we played Fleetwood Mac) and hit the hay.
My brother in law Matt decided to do the Daddy/Son camp thing so he set up a tent with Tristen and they slept outside overnight, and I went and fell into a deep sleep inside (before the usual pregnancy insomnia kicked in about 2am like it always did) waking up on Sunday, feeling as easy as Lionel.