Day two in the French Alps and in theory I couldn't be happier. We've actually done it. Gone skiing. Not only that but the snow is great and the blue skies almost touchable from the mountain peaks. Plus thus far I have survived with both knees intact despite somehow both starting and ending my first day on a black run. Or just about.
And yet. And yet. This will sound utterly bonkers to anyone who has endured me moaning about the lack of snow in my life the past three years but, whisper it, I really didn't enjoy myself. Sure, the days had their moments. Like when my phone rang at lunchtime on day one as I was about to tackle a bumpy black and it was the nanny telling me that Louis was doing fine and "an absolute pleasure to look after". And I coped with the slope. Not to mention that feeling of catching some high altitude rays in the middle of what has to be the longest winter ever.
But for the rest of the time I honestly felt wretched. Utterly wretched that here we were, on holiday, and we'd opted to dump Louis with a total stranger so that we could head up a mountain without him. Sure, we'd watched him settle in and there was no way I'd have left him if he'd been crying. (Unlike plenty of other parents using the creche.) And I knew the nannies would be keeping him busy. After all, there was sledging to do and a snow park to explore. Not to mention feet painting and cookie baking to come.
Yet that didn't change the fact that for all the stimulation, I knew Louis would have been happier spending the day doing chores with me than a day without me. Especially on a so-called family holiday. I just couldn't get the knots to leave my stomach or the echoes of "Mummy toys" out of my head. Even if I managed to forget about him briefly while negotiating the way down, there was always that long chair back up again to dwell. Even the fact that we'd started both days late and finished early - well, for us, at least: normally I'm fanatical about getting the first and last lifts - didn't help.
What to do? Except hope that the guilt will dissipate as the week wears on. Who knows: by day six I might even manage to enjoy myself.