When we booked our holiday back in March we were told that we were crazy. I was 8 months pregnant with my first baby, and in desperate need of a holiday. We were used to at least a few trips a year so the urge to get on a flight was unreal, even at that late stage where I could barely tackle a step up a kerb let alone a packed plane with my giant self squeezed into an economy seat.

I spent hours googling destinations, climate, flight times, baby safety and our evenings were made up of us debating where we should go. I was suffering severe holiday withdrawal it had been nearly a year since we last smelt that runway tarmac so booking a holiday as soon after the baby was born was a given and no one was going to tell us different. See I’m a Scorpio and we know best.

We finally decided on Greece, and went ahead and booked seven nights in September. Temperatures are mild that time of year and would save us panicking every five minutes that the baby is overheating, but still warm enough that we could do a bit of swimming and get our daily dose of vitamin D. The flight is around 3 and a half hours and we figured that by four months Emerson would be *praying* in some sort of routine.