Stage One: Excitement

Okay let’s look at the upshot here, 6 whole weeks of no school run. No ironing uniform. No screaming ‘JUST PUT YOUR SHOES ON PLEASE WE’RE LATE!’ five times a week. Days out, holidays, precious memories to be made. You’ve got this.

Stage Two: Logistics

Jesus six weeks is a long time to cover childcare. You’ve maxed out on goodwill from grandparents/mates/relatives and start to consider asking that lady you see in Sainsburys sometimes with the kind eyes.

Stage Three: The First Morning

On a typical school day, you have to drag them out of bed and feed them dry Cheerios in the car, but as soon as school holidays hit they’re up at 5am demanding Nutella pancakes.

Stage Four: Preparing to Fail

Trying to book absolutely anything is like attempting to bag tickets for Glastonbury; you have to plan months in advance for anything remotely entertaining and you’ll have to re-mortgage your house to afford the entry price.

Stage Five: The Day Out

After what seems like the longest car journey in human history, you arrive for a day out at the zoo only to find ten thousand other parents have had the same idea. Oh, and your kid couldn’t give less of a shit about the animals. The gift shop on the other hand…

Stage Six: The Holiday Abroad

Following the anxiety-inducing wait for the new passports to arrive, the record-breaking queue to get through security at the airport and the four-hour flight in a pressurised cabin with two small children; you arrive at your destination a shell of your former self. The hotel looks considerably less impressive than it did on Instagram and the air-con is broken but there’s a bar and a kids club and that’s all that matters.

Stage Seven: Blind Date

Facing a mountain of post-holiday washing, you attempt to negotiate strategic playdates with literally anyone that will take them. ‘What do you mean you don’t like Jacob?! Of COURSE you do darling, now go and play’. Agreeing to each one reminds you of that overdraft you got at university; you know you’re getting further and further into debt with these people and you’ll have to pay them back eventually, but that’s ‘future you’s’ problem.

Stage Eight: The Uniform Shop

Nothing makes you feel more like your mother than standing in Marks and Spencer declaring ‘He’ll grow into it’ as your kid tries on a blazer 5 sizes too big. Oh, and thank goodness for financially crippling footwear. It costs more than your wedding shoes and lasts approximately 3 weeks before they grow out of them.

Stage Nine: Surrender

By week five, the house looks like you’ve been burgled and the kids are feral. Screen time is at an all-time high, Netflix constantly asks if you’re still watching and now Jaffa Cakes are a regular at breakfast, because in your mind they completely count as one of their five a day.

Stage Ten: The Night Before

Uniforms laid out; lunches packed. You’re not sure how, but you’ve survived. You mentally prepare for the onslaught of front door pictures with the caption ‘where has my baby gone’ knowing full well you’ll be posting one too.