My Baby Only Wears Pajamas

I can't seem to dress Sóley in anything other than babygros, which are technically pjs I suppose. It's just everything else seems like too much trouble, all those bits and pieces, jeans and socks and shoes and shirts and cardigans, would you be bothered?

So we were shamed by the appearance of little Sophia at our recent Mother and Baby pilates class. There she was, a whole 3 weeks younger than Sóley, impeccably dressed in her frills and flounces, socks, shoes, pantaloons and who knows what else. Not only that but she was mannerly aswell. 'No Sophia, we don't cry' chided her equally well turned out mother when little Sophia let out a tiny whimper.

'No Sóley we don't cry!' I try it out but it has no effect so I pack my screaming baby into her car seat and hightail it outta there.

That'll almost put a halt to her gallop

Eight one way tickets, three credit cards and one very confusing evening later, all four of us are going to Iceland in a staggered feat of babysitting. The mother, the father, the baby and the mother in law. Just so I can draw some pictures and stay up late drinking beers in the sunshine like I normally do every summer.

I can't WAIT! Of course it won't be like the old days when all I had to think about was whether I should buy vodka or jagermeister in the duty free and if I'd be able to outrun an exhausted polar bear. No, this time it'll be all buggies and baggage and tiny swimsuits and cuddly giraffes and teething and the price of nappies. What is the price of nappies in Iceland? Where does the baby go on the plane? How will the baby sleep in bright night? And will my entourage like being stranded in a tiny hamlet where horsemeat noodles are a salad and the most exciting thing to happen will be pizza night on a thursday? These are the questions that race through my head as I pat my baby's back at 5am.