This blog post feels muddled because it is muddled. It was written over a few days, in snatched moments, and honestly that mirrors how my head has felt.
The hotel is huge, a maze of elevators, tunnels and dark pockets of fake volcanic rock. It’s built into a castle, which sounds magical, but mostly means I keep getting lost. I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually.
After extensive research into hotels, specifically choosing this one because the kids’ area of the room wouldn’t open onto a balcony, it turns out that’s exactly what it does. Brilliant.
That said, it’s actually fine. I requested the ground floor and River doesn’t seem remotely interested in going out there. We’re right next to the dragon pool, the restaurant and the playground, which is very handy. The other restaurant is… a mission. We only attempt it once a day.
The Sleep Nobody Predicted
I said the kids were going to have an early night. I did not anticipate how early.
River fell asleep around 5pm. Summer was out by 7pm. Kike and I took turns going to eat dinner alone like two ships passing in the night. Both kids slept straight through until 7am.
Clearly, the journey and the virus had taken its toll.
Day One: Bravery and Kids Club
Our first full day started quietly. We were the only people at breakfast. We explored the hotel, trying to understand the elevator system, and spent most of the day in the little pools.
Then I decided to be brave.
I signed both kids up to kids club.
River went in enthusiastically and immediately found a game involving putting balls into a treasure chest. Promising. I tried to explain to two Spanish elves that he wouldn’t do the craft, and if he screamed they should ask his sister or just ring me. They shrugged, entirely unbothered.
And then Kike and I left.
We were on our own.
We walked. We wandered into a little outdoor shopping area. We bought a few bits. It was calm. No rushing. No one pulling us in different directions. No “Can I get this?” It was… lovely.
An hour and a half went very quickly.
I collected an annoyed Summer (she hadn’t made a friend) and a very happy River. He’d managed. He’d been fine. I was so proud of him.
That evening we went to the entertainment area — a little theatre with sofas. It was very loud. River hated it. He hid in the pushchair for as long as he could. We let Summer finish her disco and then headed back.
Kike and I watched a film in bed. Small victories.
Day Two: Cold Pools and Big Feelings
Breakfast was harder than I expected.
River wanted the biscuits from last night. And the jelly. Neither of which existed.
We managed a pancake while he spun around the restaurant.
I’d promised Summer we’d try the main pool because apparently it’s heated. It looks beautiful, but it’s actually a bit cold here. Not UK cold — just cold enough that I wasn’t thrilled about getting wet.
But we live to make memories, so we went.
It was intense at first, but once we were all in, we did actually have fun. It was only when River’s lips started turning slightly blue that I called time and we retreated to our “holiday home” for hot showers and TV.
Kids Club: Take Two (Spoiler: No)
Summer agreed to give kids club another go. I hoped River would too.
3pm rolled around. It was a firm no.
No amount of gummies was getting him inside.
I won’t lie, I was upset. I really thought this would be it. I thought I’d get an hour and a half to do what I wanted, which at this point was honestly just sleep.
Summer went because she’s lovely and perceptive and knows when her mum needs a break. But River?
Screaming.
“No. No castle. No games.”
I genuinely thought I’d win. I did not.
Back to the playground, now feeling guilty for putting Summer in at all.
Thankfully, we made some parent friends and spent the afternoon at the playground with the all-inclusive bar and a Kidzbop soundtrack. It could have been worse.
Summer didn’t want to go again. Dinner helped. Sushi forgives all.
Bubbles and Whips
The evening entertainment was a bubble show.
River sat with his headphones on, watching in awe. He beamed. He squealed. At the end, he even went up so the man could put him inside a giant bubble.
Then the show continued outside and the man produced large whips, which he used to “whip off” the end of a flower.
Naturally.
All in all, a very fun evening.
We’ve settled into a rhythm now: eating, swimming, eating, TV, playground, evening show. Repeat.
The Bigger Stuff
There’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot recently, my health.
I’m used to dealing with EDS but the last few years of new symptoms and reactions have been really hard. I’ve been reading about the links between trauma and physical symptoms. Fight and flight. The body never fully standing down.
I spend every day anticipating meltdowns. Planning. Calming. Soothing: when the wrong spoon is given, the banana breaks, the plug is missing or just because it’s Tuesday.
My body is on constant alert. And I genuinely think that’s the problem.
This morning, for example:
River wakes up screaming until I get him. He won’t get out of bed without me.
“I’m starving.” Ok lets go get breakfast “NO BREAKFAST!”
We get dressed, except he doesn’t want to.
So we pause. And wait.
Breakfast is too noisy. Outside is too hot. The jelly isn’t there.
Pause. And wait.
Egg and sausage arrive.
He screams, I don’t know why this time. Not an obvious trigger.
Summer quietly disappears, embarrassed.
Kike and I sit completely still, not moving, not talking, pretending we cannot see or hear what’s happening.
Then it stops.
“Mummy, I need a hug.”
I wrap my arms around him. He uses my hands to stroke his face. He calms. He eats his sausage.
All of this happens within fifteen minutes.
Sitting still is how I help River regulate. When he’s overwhelmed, we pause. We wait. I don’t talk, don’t move, don’t rush him through it. I make myself calm so his body can borrow that calm.
What I’m only just realising is that my body needs the same thing.
I’ve been regulating nervous systems for years, I just thought I was only doing it for him. I never stopped to notice that when I sit still with him, my own body settles too. My shoulders drop. My breath slows. The constant alertness eases.
Maybe the problem isn’t that I don’t know how to stop. It’s that I don’t allow myself to do it unless someone else needs it first.
Stepping Back
So I’m trying something new.
Stopping. Breathing more. Being still. Being mindful of my body and my reactions. Recognising what I can and can’t control.
We still need structure, our family needs it to function but I don’t have to carry everyone’s happiness on my back.
I don’t get as sick when I’m on holiday.
Yes, the sun helps. But so does sitting. Letting everyone do what they want. Letting go.
Right now, I’m sitting writing. Summer is playing in the pool with her new friends. River is in the room watching TV. Kike is on his phone.
We don’t have to be together. We don’t have to be doing something planned.
That bit on the plane during the safety demonstration ‘put your own mask on before helping others.’
That’s it.
We all need to make sure we’re okay individually, so we can thrive when we’re together.
It’s Christmas Eve. It probably won’t look like much to anyone else but it feels right for us.
50 days of River 
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