We took the plunge and stayed at home this year for our summer holidays. I refuse to use the term staycation – in fact anyone over twenty five should be banned from using it as when we were young you definitely didn’t ‘staycation'. It just went without saying that you went on your holiyers to Tramore or Killarney and if you had notions above yourself you “went abroad” to an unspecified destination. Anyway, having said all that I haven’t spent a summer holiday in Ireland since I could afford to buy a flight so it was a bit strange heading down to Youghal for a week. Fortunately the weather was Mediterranean and we only had one day where we looked out the window and discussed options until eventually one of us declared “You know what, we’ll go for a drive.”
For Baby D it was business as usual as the Baby D Production Line™ simply relocated to Cork. He had a few problems to iron out, such as Mammy’s attempt to feed him baby food from a jar, (a face of horror with lips zipped up tighter than a pair of my pre-pregnancy jeans directed me into the kitchen to chop and mash something more palatable) and a spotty tummy, which resulted in a pleasant Sunday morning tracking down an on-call Doctor. The strong Cork accent didn’t faze him and he continued to converse fluently in Baby-D-ESE, “Splut – Ba Ba BA – DA HEH! HEH!…Splut.. Splut...Spluttttt!” He disccovered that rolling onto his tummy is the best thing ever and undertook a gruelling exercise regime of 100 roly-polys in the morning before breakfast. Eventually all the exercise and sea air finally caught up with him and on our last day Hubbie and myself managed to have a long relaxing lunch in a restaurant perched on the side of a cliff, with spectacular ocean views, the sun beaming down from a cloudless sky and without once being disturbed by Baby D. Ah Bliss. As the fella sez, you can’t beat a staycation.
Anyone for the last few choc-ices now?
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