

I knew it was time to start thinking about a new family car somewhere between hour two and hour three of the road trip.
My husband was driving, relaxed as always, as if we weren't trapped in a metal box with three children in car seats, one of whom was scream-crying because someone else looked at her banana weirdly. The boot was packed so tightly I was scared to open it when we arrived. And somewhere past Lithgow, I realised I couldn't feel my left foot because it was slowly being crushed by one of four lunchboxes crammed into my footwell.
I love our car. It's been with us since baby number two, it's never let us down and some weeks it feels like we spend more family time in there than in our actual house. But life has gotten bigger and our car hasn't.