EighthLayer

It’s the middle of the day (at the time of writing), and I’m currently sitting by myself on the balcony of my family’s hotel room in Fuerteventura.

I’m here on a family holiday with my wife, son, mother-in-law, father-in-law, pregnant sister-in-law, and her boyfriend. It’s stunning here, and this isn’t our first time visiting this beautiful island in the Canaries. My wife and I also came here for our mini-moon (a honeymoon really, but we call it a mini-moon as it was only a week long).

That was before we had our son, so naturally, the experiences we have on holiday now, versus then, are very different.

See, we decided for the first time my son has been on holiday since he started at school, we would take him during the designated school holidays rather than during term time. Unsurprisingly, the hotel is extremely busy. Of course, that’s to be expected, but even so, being surrounded by the chaos fills me with anxiety and dread.

A packed pool with dozens of kids and their parents. More kids running riot whilst their parents take little to no responsibility, “relaxing” on their sun loungers. The aqua aerobic routines with obnoxiously loud music.

Being in the middle of all that isn’t my idea of fun, and this is where the parent guilt kicks in. I should be down there with them, attempting to have fun amongst the chaos, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.

For the rest of the family this is their idea of fun, and they genuinely do have a great time. That said, it doesn’t stop me feeling a sense of guilt for missing out on most of the day whilst I sit here alone “enjoying” the peace and quiet.

Then, at dinner, my five-year-old son tells me about all the swimming activities he’s been doing with other family members, including my sister-in-law’s boyfriend (soon to be a father himself).

Maybe I’m just not cut out for this fatherhood thing, even five years in. Maybe I’m just a shit dad. Maybe I should just stay at home next time.