SMOOTHING out my towel on a sun-drenched beach in Marbella, I slowly sipped my frozen margarita, knowing the only work I had to do was on my tan.
The waves lapped gently against the shore and, although I was blissfully relaxed and knew I’d made the right decision, I was also aware plenty of parents would judge me for it. I had left my seven-year-old son at home.

Single mum Annette Kellow, 42, reveals why – after learning the hard way – that she refuses to take her child on holiday Credit: Supplied

A child-free Annette kicking back by the pool Credit: Supplied
At this time of year, my Instagram feed is flooded with photos of families holidaying abroad.
Parents claim to be having the best time ever, furiously captioning their snaps #makingmemories, #familytime and #blessed. But I know the harsh truth.
Behind those forced smiles lies a ton of stress and drained bank balances, because – although no parent will dare to admit it – going away with children is costly, exhausting and, quite frankly, a nightmare.
That’s why I refuse to take my son Felix, seven, overseas. Instead, I treat myself to solo holidays or leisurely jaunts with friends, leaving my son at home.

I’ve seen it dozens of times before. Picture-perfect reels of families on social media with captions about beachy days and playing by the pool. But the reality is that ‘Holiday Mum’ always gets a raw deal.
It starts with the packing, which is invariably left to women. After curating matching outfits for their offspring and stuffing 50 swim nappies in their hand luggage, there’s barely any room left for their own necessities.
Their babies bawl in the departure lounge because they’re shattered from being at the airport since 3am and, and once onboard, they scream because the plane pressure is agony for their tiny ears.
Meanwhile, mum is the one getting the side-eye from other passengers who want a quiet and relaxing flight, while dad, who is conveniently three rows behind because he ‘forgot’ to book seats together, is busy knocking back the booze.

Yet parents continue to put themselves through it.
Four in ten kids have visited five countries before they turn eight, according to a poll by holiday provider Club Med.

But I learned the hard way that kids and overseas holidays simply do not mix.
During my maternity leave in 2018, Felix was three months old when we boarded a flight to New York to see friends.

Ratty toddlers and screaming babies on the plane are hell, I refuse to take my son on holiday & why all mums should do the same Annette Kellow Credit: Supplied

Parents claim to be having the best time ever but I know the harsh truth, says Annette Credit: Supplied
I’d seen other mums online holidaying with babies, and they made it look easy. What was the worst that could happen?
As the plane took off, there were no baby cots available, so the air hostess kindly allowed me to have a whole aisle row to myself. This caused an almighty kerfuffle, with an elderly couple complaining it ‘wasn’t fair’.
I’d booked a cute studio apartment in Manhattan and took out the best medical insurance I could buy, to cover all eventualities.
Felix would only drink a certain brand of milk, as others seemed to give him reflux, so I took two suitcases packed full of the stuff.

I’d imagined escaping the city for lazy days on the beach and meals with friends in the evening while Felix slept in his pram.
How foolish. The reality was extremely different.
My apartment was an airless, sweltering studio with a bed on a vertigo-inducing mezzanine… something they failed to tell me pre-trip.

Annette doesn’t feel any guilt about leaving her son at home as she knows she’s a hands-on mother Credit: Supplied

Annette’s decision to go on holiday without Felix was met with disdain by some friends Credit: Supplied
There was no bannister, just a ladder for access, and barely any room for a cot below. I spent every night worried about Felix lying below me – and he couldn’t sleep either because it was so hot.
Most days, I’d end up seeking refuge in an air-conditioned supermarket or walking him in his pram because it was less stressful than trying to catch up with old acquaintances.
After a week, I gave up and boarded the next flight home.
Traumatised, it took a long time to recover, but in 2023 I tried again and booked a pretty hotel in Nice in the south of France.
It turned out to be a hellhole on a construction site.

Felix hated the noise of the building works, and we were bitten endlessly by mosquitoes.
I had to beg, then argue like a mad woman, for the hotel to cancel our booking.
We then trudged halfway across Nice to an Airbnb. Once there, we ate at the same restaurant every day because I didn’t have the energy to find anywhere new.
It’s the same story for every parent who holidays overseas with kids.
Even when the #lovemyholswithkids crew arrives at their resort, the pain of travelling with their sprogs doesn’t end there.
Their so-called ‘break’ revolves around trying to please everyone.
They can’t agree on where to eat, everyone snacks at different times, and many end up tucking into something that resembles a Greggs sausage roll while perched on a packed wall overlooking the beach.
But the minute the kids are tucked up in bed (after a ghastly mini disco where the youngsters have been pumped with sugary slushies), they’ll be straight on their socials to share a filtered version of their day.
Some might argue that Felix is missing out, or that I’m selfish.
But it is simply better to leave young kids at home.

Critics might argue that I’m missing out on creating wonderful memories with my son, but he doesn’t miss out, says Annette Credit: Lorna Roach

When Felix was three, I left him in the safe hands of his dad and grandparents and booked my first solo weekend break to Paris to see a friend.
I picked a small, boutique hotel with cute floral rooms, which I knew wouldn’t attract families. After all, who wants to spend their childless break with someone else’s kids?
And I didn’t feel guilty, because I’m such a hands-on mum the rest of the time.
When I arrived back at St Pancras in London after a stress-free journey on the Eurostar, I felt completely refreshed and ready to tackle parenting once more.
My decision was met with disdain by some friends.
“I could never leave my little one like that,” one said, before quizzing me (somewhat enviously) about the places I’d been able to visit because I didn’t have a child in tow.
But I couldn’t care less who judges me. Over the past four years, I’ve been to Spain, France and America.
I once spent six wonderful days lying by the pool in Marbella doing absolutely nothing with a friend, Irene, 44, who lives in America.
Of course, I missed my son dreadfully and we Facetimed, but with his father and my mum there to hold the reins, I knew he was in good hands.

Now that Felix is old enough to understand, when I’m planning a trip away I tell him Mummy’s off to recharge her batteries. He seems to understand that travelling is a big person’s adventure.
It does take planning and I have to arrange help with his dad, who he stays with, as well as my parents, in case he needs extra help.
Critics might argue that I’m missing out on creating wonderful memories with my son, but he doesn’t miss out.
We have enjoyed weekend UK seaside trips to Margate, Brighton and Cornwall, which does the job at a fraction of the price, and he loves having picnics at my mum Grace’s house.
What’s more, he doesn’t know any different, so he doesn’t crave these pricey getaways that many of his pals do.
Other kids at school get to holiday in places like Tenerife and Italy, but when their mums boast about their mini breaks, I just think: ‘Will your children really remember all this extravagance you’re busting a gut for?’
According to the latest ONS data, a family of four spends £3,891 on a holiday abroad, so I’ve saved thousands.
I believe we’ve been conditioned to believe holidays abroad are compulsory, and many parents now see taking their kids out of school during term-time so they can jet off on holiday as a fundamental right.
That’s nonsense.
Right now, I’m planning a trip to southern Italy, where I’ll soon be eating my body weight in spaghetti, visiting flea markets and flopping out on the beach.

So, ‘Holiday Mums’, while you’re pulling your hair out in the Costas this summer, I’ll be daydreaming on my sunlounger, cocktail in hand – and not a tantrum in sight.
It’s a hard life, but someone’s got to do it.