We are home. After eight days in Paris and two with the inlaws (one at either end, to break up the journey) I am back in a house surrounded by more washing than I know what to do with, much of which seems to have acquired stains which I'm sure weren't there when I sorted it into bin bags of darks and lights before we left.
It is raining of course, meaning the vest-covered radiators are steaming as our damp underthings evaporate towards dryness, whilst the rotary airer sits dripping sadly in the back garden.
I am typing this on my knees in bed, T is napping, the excitement of the last week having caught up with him. I should really be putting clean clothes away (the unworn shorts which I carefully packed, remarkably unprepared for a week in which it rained a lot) finding space for new toys or attempting 'cupboard under the stairs Jenga' to get the suitcases away. The baby is kicking the laptop, and my bladder, which should be pushing me to get out of bed but really isn't.
I have Mac-prevaricated to excess. Holiday photos are uploaded, edited and saved. My inbox is clear. I have checked my online account for fraudulent transactions, and sighed at the fact that the debit balance is all my own doing.
There is no arguing with the fact I have post-holiday gloom. I realise it is ridiculous, we are lucky to have been able to have a break at all this year (albeit one paid for with supermarket loyalty points) and have so much to look forward to. Weekends with friends, our hypnobirthing classes, my sister's wedding and of course the new baby. Two weeks from today we'll be hours away from finding out the sex. As an aside, my husband got a bit overexcited in the Christmas Shoppe (yes, two P's and an E, a surefire way of milking extra cash from gullible tourists) at Disneyland and came out with TWO 'My First Christmas' baubles for the new arrival, one blue and one pink. It is a good job plenty of our friends are sprogging this year too, as we'll be able to find a good home for the one we cannot use.
I don't miss the holiday as such. It is good to be home and surrounded by familiar things (mess). I miss the family time though, eating breakfast as a threesome, packing up a picnic with croissants three ways (veggie husband, ravenous carnivorous pregnant me, Nutella munching toddler) and listening to T chatting to his Daddy. It's amazing how more than a week of undivided parental attention had improved his speech, with new words and decipherable sentences (as simple as 'black car go') every day.
My husband is back at work, as I will be tomorrow. T will be back at nursery and real life begins again. I usually deplore of such self-indulgent twaddle, but today is a day to acclimatise, to get back to normal and maybe, in a spare moment, to count up the remainder of our loyalty points vouchers and start planning where the next break might take us.