I am apprehensive about writing this. I was apprehensive about doing it.
Don’t tell Mark Latham but I have recently returned from a two-week holiday overseas without my children and it was heaven. Our daughters, who are three and five, checked in for a week with each of their grandparents, while my husband and I flew across the world.
It had been a vague pipedream for years but earlier this year we decided to make it a reality. We could get the time off, both of our parents were willing and able to take the girls for a week each, and with a third baby on the way we figured if we didn’t seize the opportunity now it would elude us forever.
We booked the tickets earlier this year without much thought; it was still so far away it hardly felt real. Even as the date of our departure crept up, it seemed surreal. I would say to people “We’re heading to London for a fortnight without the kids” and wondered who those words belonged to.