It all started the day before we were due to leave for our holiday. I'd been attempting to pack, and do you know what finding nine days’ worth of clothing is like for a pregnant chick? Almost impossible. I had to try everything on as I went, half of it no longer fit, and if it did fit it was falling apart. Cruise ships have dress codes for dinner, smart casual most nights, and a bit of cocktail to make it fancy. It's been a long time since I could afford to buy clothes, and it was winter last time I did. You know who has lots of clothes other than Snow Girl? My sister. So I was over there raiding her stash. Now you'd think this chick would have nothing for me, seeming she's thin as a rail, not pregnant and almost everything she wears is also falling apart. You'd be surprised. She's got two of those stand-alone clothes racks like you see in stores, a chest of draws, a square basket, a crate with 50 pairs of jeans as well as a couple of big tubs (I'm talking 40L plastic crates) of "winter" clothes. I seriously do not know any other Australian that has winter and summer clothes.
What do you need that shit for? Winter in Sydney is like two months of 10 degree days. We didn't even get a frost last year. Throw a sweater over that singlet top and be done with it. But anyway... massive amounts of clothes. Many are designer, even more still have their tags. So many are not in her size. But she won’t throw them out because she doesn't want to upset her friends who give her these things.... yet she never ever wears them, so how would these people know the difference? Anyway so I scored pretty big. There are a few pieces I'm not giving back. And while I'm there, I discover her love of organisation and travel does not in any way extend to her packing her own suitcase. Apparently when she's traveled in the past she's thrown in a few pairs of undies, maybe a shirt or two, then gotten bored and given up. Forcing herself to buy clothes as she travels - clothes she clearly does not need. So I packed for her too. While I was trying on her gear she was like "Oh I forgot I had this!" "I love this but I've never worn it!" "Oh I never go anywhere nice, so I don't get to wear this..." so I packed all of those things while she whined about how boring packing was. By the time I was done all she had to put in were knickers. Chris was very grateful
We were about finished when her best mate (who is practically a stranger to me) shows up. So I'm making small talk with this chick while Bec gets ready to go out to dinner with her. Awkward. I hate small talk. Anyway she was asking me about the cruise and I mentioned the travel sickness, and how everyone assures me that the boats are so big you don't feel the movement. She's like "What? That's not true. You have to hang on to the hand rails as you walk around. You can feel you're on a boat the whole time, there's no mistaking it." Uh-oh. So here I am hoping that the voices of the many are true, and she's just had an uncommon experience, maybe on a really tiny ship.Getting aboard the ship the next morning was no problem. I had my specially crafted outfit, wrestled on my spanx and had my back-up letter in case I should need it. I thankfully did not. No one seemed to even glance at my belly that I was sucking in for all I was worth. So that was sweet! Once on the boat, everyone was heading up to the buffet for lunch. A lot of people waiting for the lifts, which had a weight limit of about 12 people. I followed my family and some randoms on and sure enough, it beeped "overloaded" and as the last on, I stepped out. The P&O worker who was keeping order asked me where I was headed and I'm like "Up. I'm told there's food on deck 12" and good naturedly he commented I didn't need to eat, seeming the lift rejected me and all. Anyway he steps away to help someone else and this older woman approaches me and asks me if I'm alright with her trying to guess my gestation. I guess she was seeing right through my costume, eh? Well she pegged me at 5 months, which is what I needed to be, so I was pretty happy with that
I didn't let her in on the secret. Kind of wish I'd run into her again without my spanx on though, just to see her face. One of the first things we noticed was the overwhelming number of black staff to white passengers and it's something in that made me distinctly uncomfortable. Maybe it's just because I'd watched "12 years a slave" on our anniversary and that shit is still messing me up (I'll go in depth with this at some point I'm sure) or because I have while person guilt in general. I know, realistically, that these workers are paid very well, they choose to be there, and most of them are Philo, not Afraican American. But that didn't make me feel better. Even less so seeming the captain, high-ranking crew and entertainment directors were all rich white bastards, but the lovely people who served my dinner and scrubbed my shitter were not.
After lunch, we found our cabins. Now, there was a mistake when we first booked with flightcentre (another one) - the lady somehow forgot to make sure we had a room with space for the baby and later on that was corrected. We were told we'd been upgraded. Ok, cool. Got a window and everything. The website said that queen rooms (assumedly rooms with queen sized beds) were unable to fit a baby cot, and so parents traveling with infants would be given double rooms. I'd assumed that meant we'd have a smaller bed. Like who cares? Wrong. A double room is in fact a room with two single beds, because you know, once you're a parent you don't have sex anymore anyway. (It also had two bunks that could be pulled down from the ceiling, though how on earth four people could survive nine days with all their stuff in such a tiny space is beyond me). I was heartened to find that Obi and I didn't even need to discuss sleeping arrangements. We sleep together. Always. That's it. So we dumped a suitcase on the spare bed, turned the bottom of it into a change station for Isis and were all settled in. The bed was actually really comfortable. I kind of wish I'd stolen the pillow too, because it was that good. Lucky I didn't though, when we got off today there was a table full of items customs were taking - including ship towels and an iron.
As you do. They were filming an episode of boarder security too, it was pretty neat. Back to day one... at about 5pm the ship set sail. You could feel it. There's some big fat freaking liars in this world and they will be hearing from me. Highlight of that day: There was a raffle for spa treatments and I won the main prize which was a $100 voucher! I couldn't believe it! Super keen!
Sadly by the time the raffle happened I was pretty ill. I'd put on my trusty sea bands (pressure point bands) but they didn't seem to be doing a whole lot. At dinner the food looked amazing... I managed an entree, then had to run out on deck for some air. That helped, so I went back in and had some chocolate cake. Because I could. That wasn't the best idea, unfortunately, and by the time we headed back to our cabin I was in pretty bad shape. I had a shower - which was amazing. Mmmm instant hot water of hotness and very adjustable pressure. You really could get this thing just right it a way I can't at home - and took of my stupid bands that weren't doing anything.
And then I threw up.
Obi's like "well at least you know the bands do work". Yes love, I suppose that's true.
Haha That's crazy if you really can't feel it! Even Isis could feel it - she just didn't care. She would play games, waiting for the ship to rock and knock her over. We're all made differently, this is just more proof I guess.
