Up earlyish, off to breakky in the restaurant where the kids help themselves to 14 kinds of donut for breakfast, and every cereal under the sun that we don’t have at home.
Who in their right mind eats donuts for breakfast? And why do hotel chains think it’s a suitable thing to offer?
And why did I let my kids go help themselves to breaky when I know they can’t be trusted?!
Purchase train and ferry tickets, wander around Central station looking for a relatively easy way to get the pram up to the platform that doesn’t involve carrying it, loaded with baby, up the 1000 steps available to us, and end up carrying pram, loaded with baby, up 1000 steps while ensuring other children aren’t abducted or running onto train tracks.
Our 3-day sightseeing tour of Sydney commences with a ferry to Darling Harbour where we intend to hop on the monorail (must be said in singsong voice, a la The Simpsons “monorail ” episode every time we see it.) and visit the Aquarium.
Feed Chippie on ferry as discreetly as possible, fighting small, ferocious child and strong head wind to keep large muslin over shoulder, and, most importantly, left breast.
Monorail out of the way – and three day, unlimited ride family pass purchased – we head to Aquarium. Head back over bridge to purchase lunch. Head back in direction of Aquarium.
Stop for toilet break … where there appears to be no baby change facilities present … change Chippie on bench seat and have a coffee whilst feeding him in large, open plan food court.
Discreetly, of course.
Sit him up, successfully prevent coffee from being kicked, knocked or poured into my lap by any of my children, notice he’s done a small spit on his jacket and wipe it up.
Stand up. Vagina feels somewhat cold. Glance down at bench and realise the small spit on his jacket, was, in fact, quite a large spew that has landed between my legs and been soaked up by my jeans.
And rather cold.
No doubt also quite aesthetically pleasing to, oh, everyone, given how discreet it isn’t.
Carry screaming, not wanting to sleep Chippie around aquarium, grab a nice photo of him (not screaming) in front of a dugong, put him down when he’s asleep and pick him straight back up again when he starts screaming. Again.
Another several monorails, a ferry, a train and carrying a baby-laden pram down 1548 steps, we head back to the hotel for dinner.
Where I am required to feed Chippie, discreetly, under a muslin whilst he frantically waves his arms about while holding it, and I attempt to savour the delicious spread before me.