Hello from Heathrow. If you happen to be here, I’m the haggard looking lady sitting in the V Bar, having a glass of wine. Oh, you see me? Hi! Yes, that is Nanny #1 taking TC to the baby changing station. And yep, that would be The Princess sleeping in her Fancy pram. What’s that? Oh, no, silly, that’s not Santa. That’s H. I know there is a resemblance, but no, really. Come again? What’s with my skin? Pale, splotchy? Oh that’s just holiday stress. See, Fancy people have crap travel disasters too. We’re not immune.
As I sip my wine, I dream. Maybe someday we’ll be Super Fancy and look back laughing at this trip. “Oh H, ha ha, do you remember when we were poor and had to fly commercial!?” We’ll have a hearty chuckle and disembark from our private jet, painted purple and parked on our little airport on our little private island.
That sounds so much nicer than a box of cold Wagamama for dinner, only 4 more diapers left in my bag until we get to the Continent and two children who are decidedly bored before we’ve even taken off. The only thing that makes this bearable is Nanny #1. I just went and bought her an iPod charger to thank her for marching my children around the terminal while I try to find my buzz and a book with a good plot. Ah, holiday travel. Fancy style.