Those who know me will know that I dislike winter. Dislike is probably a little mild, actually. Hate, would be a better word. Abhor, perhaps. Loath. Detest. Hey… sure, a fine winter’s day with snow on the ground when you’re dressed properly… I can enjoy that. But the rest of it. Hate it. Abhor it. Loath it. Detest it. But it’s worse now. Cause not only do I have to try and keep myself warm, I have to keep a child warm! Read on for my rant!
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Like many other places in the world, getting your child into subsidised care in Austria, means registering early. But given the two years of potential maternity leave, there’s more time for planning. You don’t, for example, have to think about it before you even get pregnant! But there were some things about childcare in Austria that I wasn’t quite expecting. Though to be fair, I based it all on my perceived notion of Australian childcare. And obviously I’ve never had a child in Australian childcare! But here’s how it works here.
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Being home with Sammy for the first two years of his life, I just assumed that he would be more proficient in English than German, at least until he started daycare.
Turns out I was kind of wrong.
I guess it’s because it’s the local language, so although he tends to hear me speaking English most of the day, German is the thing that’s on in the background all the time. He also spends plenty of time with his grandparents, who obviously speak German to him, and I’m also in the habit of speaking German when they’re around so they understand me.
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I didn’t expect Sam’s birthday to make me sad.
In hindsight, I should have. My birthday and friends’ birthdays always make me sad. But it never occurred to me that Sam’s would. I guess I thought I didn’t care that much. He was only turning two. He’s barely aware what a birthday is. He was more overwhelmed by the presents, the food, the attention… and yet…
Tears came to my eyes. I had to excuse myself and walk away.
Because it was what was missing.
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In the thick of it, it honestly felt like everything that could have gone wrong did. If I’d known how hard it was going to be going into it I probably wouldn’t have done it.
But it had been almost two years since I’d visited Oz. I’d had a kid in the meantime. And last winter almost killed me (or at least threw me into a deep hole of depression that a holiday to Australia probably could have fixed).
So, we went for it. We endured the flight, the jet lag, the covid, the weather, the constant moving around with a toddler, the terrible sleeping from said toddler. And then we faced getting back on the aeroplane and doing it all again.
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I’d read a lot of stories online of people who travelled with kids. And there was one general consensus. The difficult age is between 1 and 3. Before one, kids are more flexible, sleep a lot, and their bodies don’t react as much to things like jet lag and so on. After 3 they are old enough to understand what’s going on and old enough to be reasoned with (to some extent).
The bottom line was… when I looked into the question of ‘should we do a long plane trip with an 18 month old’ the answer was… DON’T.
It can’t be that bad, I thought. And in any case, we don’t have a choice – I want my friends and family to meet the little dude before he’s not so little any more.
It WAS that bad.
So, if you’re thinking about it. My advice is… DON’T. lol. But read on. Enjoy my pain.
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I had to split this blog post up… because when just getting to the airport became a mission in itself, well… I guess you’ll find out if you read along.
I was nervous about the prospect of flying with an 18-month old. But how bad can it be, really? In the end it’s just a day of our lives. It will be difficult. But it won’t be terrible. Well… actually it kind of was.
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an aussie in austria 