Sun, sea, sand & sunburn?

I moved back to North Devon just before Xavier was born. As much as I loved London there were a few logistical issues with me there on my own with a baby. Firstly it would be doubtful that I could afford a flat big enough for myself, my baby, his pram and my shoes. Secondly, I would never go out because I couldn’t afford a babysitter. And also I have a phobia of escalators so there was no way I could cope with the pushchair on the tube, and I didn’t want to wear a sling. So, there were many reasons for my move back to North Devon, and not least because I needed my mummy.

Two and a half years on I am now beginning to settle in. I seem to have decided that my son will have this idyllic Enid Blyton-esque childhood; countryside, lashings of ginger beer, and of course the beach.

Undoubtedly one of the best things about North Devon is the selection of lovely beaches with their nice surf; although one of the worst is the weather. I quickly learnt that the minute the sun comes out we pack up the car and head to the beach.

That in itself is no mean feat; especially on my own. One hot Saturday I got us both ready. We headed for the beach. I had to carry a bag which held our beach blanket, buckets and spades, swimming stuff, towels, wetsuit, picnic lunch, sunscreen, nappies, wipes and probably the kitchen sink, as well as Xavier’s bodyboard. He of course would walk nicely beside me down the long steps to the beach. Except he wouldn’t.

When Xavier doesn’t want to walk he has developed the ‘Flamingo foot.’ He lifts one of his feet and holds it up. When he first did this with my mother she nearly took him to A&E as she assumed something was very wrong. The first time he did it with me I knew exactly what he was up to and we had a bit of a stand off. It turns out my child is as stubborn as his mother, as he held that foot up for ages. Of course, I caved in first.

So, off I struggled, wishing that there was such a thing as a beach Sherpa (is there? If there is please get in touch), trying and failing to coax my child to save me from injury by walking. We arrived on the sand, totally exhausted, and suddenly ‘Flamingo Foot’ is no more as Xavier ran off and dived into the nearest rock pool, fully clothed. Luckily my kitchen sink bag did contain a change of clothes.

I dragged him out of the rock pool to put his swimming stuff on (better late than never), and reapplied his sunscreen. He ran back to the rock pool with his toys settling down for the duration. I lay out the blanket and although it was a sunny day there was quite a strong wind so I had to collect rocks to stop it blowing away. I thought back to when going to the beach was relaxing; I would read a book or doze off. Oh those days were long gone.

Now, I was a lifeguard, rock collector, suntan lotion applier, the sandcastle builder, (and of course Xav looked disdainfully at my efforts and carried on eating seaweed despite me taking sandcastle building very seriously) and feeder. I gave him his lunch, before realising I hadn’t  brought anything for me.

I looked on enviously at the perfect families that surrounded me with their full picnic baskets and more than one adult to carry things, as I nibbled on raisins and organic crisp-like snacks that tasted of air.

After our lunch ( Xav’s lunch), I poured him into his wetsuit and headed down to the surf with him and the bodyboard. He decided once again not to walk as he sat on the bodyboard and expected me to pull him. And it was a long way to the sea. Once there, Xav dragged me straight into the waves. He loved it, and his shrieks of laughter made me forget my tiredness, my hunger and my lack of wetsuit.

In my swimsuit (which to be honest was more suited to the South of France and a bit too skimpy for a windy beach in North Devon) I jumped into the waves with him, and it was a little tiny bit cold. We stayed in for what seemed like hours, me shivering as I held on tightly to my fearless child, before unable to endure more I dragged my child and his bodyboard back to the beach. Xav was kicking and screaming and I knew exactly how he felt.

After a bit more playing in the rock pool I repacked our big bag, got Xavier dried, and changed ready to go home for tea. He was tired now so I had no chance of making him walk. Like a worn out pack horse I lugged everything back to the car and home.

Later that night, after I’d put Xavier to bed, I showered wearily thinking about wine. As I dried off I wondered why my back was agony but when I looked in the mirror I saw the reason. It was angrily red; there had been no sunscreen on my back. A two and a half year old wasn’t going to apply it for me after all. Another thing I hadn't thought about. I tried to contort myself to rub some aftersun on, before giving up and just heading for the wine to numb all my aches and pain.

My trip to the beach might sound like a bit of a nightmare, and actually in many ways it was. I ached from all the carrying, I was still recovering from standing for hours in the sea and it was going to take about three weeks to get rid of the sand which was everywhere. On top of that I was hungry, and sunburnt. But Xavier had such a lovely time that I knew I would do it over and over again (British weather permitting). I am just hoping, that like everything else, I’ll get better and better at it. Otherwise I’m moving back to the city.