I wasn’t even sure I’d make it to Lisbon.
It was only after I’d got through security at Heathrow that I realised I couldn’t really go back. I had to get on the plane.
I wasn’t nervous for the actual trip, I’ve been away alone before..it was leaving Leo for three nights that made me anxious.
There is a tribe of mothers that breastfeed their toddlers to sleep, and until Monday, I was one of them.
Now, he’s gone four nights going to sleep without me. (The first two were not fun for Joel, the second two were more straightforward..After declaring I would “NEVER” sleep-train my babies, I bugger off to Portugal and leave Joel to sleep-train a toddler..).
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The trip itself was glorious.
I walked over 17 miles (this is a lot for me) exploring the streets of Lisbon.
I ate all the squid and ice-cream and Pastéis de Natas. (Not at once).
I met some lovely people at the hostel.
I took hundreds of bad-quality-accidentally-on-Live Mode-photos and deeply regretted not bringing my camera.
I soaked up the sun and the beautiful architecture.
I poured over postcards and tacky magnets.
I wondered how many tiles I could fit into my suitcase.
Mostly I felt light and happy and liberated.
Motherhood is hard.
…Get on the plane.
The Colourful Kind 