I Survived My First Vacation with a Baby And All I Got Was This T-Shirt.

(Actually, I did by myself a shirt. And sunglasses, and a necklace, and probably more, had naptime not caused an intervention.)

My whole family enjoyed our favorite California beach last week. It hasn’t been QUITE a whole week yet, so that’s fine that I haven’t finished unpacking, right?
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Some highlights:

Deep sea, midnight fishing for Father’s Day Eve. Unaware of the high skill level and experience of our fishing boat cohorts, we hopped on and swung those rented rods around like a 5 year old with a piñata stick. My family had some lucky catches, and Brian was especially persistent about catching seaweed on the ocean floor.

All the other fisherman were unloading their tackle, while we were taking pictures like we had light sabers.
All the other fisherman were unloading their tackle, while we were taking pictures like we had light sabers.
It was JUST like Deadliest Catch.
It was JUST like Deadliest Catch.

We visited our favorite beaches. Gus tried his first seafood in the form of a wiggling sand crab he swiped out of the sand. Brian pulled it back out of his mouth, but we now know Gus is particular about very fresh seafood.
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Gus is quick on the draw for both seafood AND landfood.
Gus is quick on the draw for both seafood AND landfood.

Scenic bike routes. I was secretly happy Brian offered to tow Gus, because I already did that for nine months.
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We visited some of my favorite restaurants. This was the one day I almost brushed the beach out of my hair. Documented.
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Brian and the rest of my family had other outings, but I opted to stay in the hotel with Gus so he could sleep. The end of the week was such that I stayed in the car for a couple hours, sifting through three cities’ Groupons, just so Gus would sleep undisturbed. I was happy to have a screenshot of a Snapchat after he woke up, so I can have proof that he’s got SOME of Mom’s genetics (if we can call the “Are you serious?” face genetic).
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Gus is thrilled to be back in his own crib and sleep through nights in their entirety, without having to stand up in the Pack and Play every hour to check to see if Mom and Dad are STILL in his room and STILL not wanting to play all night.

He’s way more fun than his parents.

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Sunscreen Helmets, and Other “First Vaca with Bab-ay” Mysteries

I’m still enjoying some time with my family away from real life, but let this serve as my “note to self” of mysteries to be solved before the next vacation.

Things to figure out that my mom-idols have probably already perfected:

How much sand intake is too much? Learn the nutritional value of sand.

Lots and lots of sand.
Lots and lots of sand.

Learn how to play with my child during the early morning hours with closed eyes; flailing hands as entertainment count. It’s more of a vacation if I can keep the hotel’s black out shades shut a little longer.

Learn how to put sunscreen on a baby.

SPF: Impenetrable
SPF: Impenetrable
Sunscreen helmet
Sunscreen helmet

Learn how to more effectively move half my belongings from my house to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to car to hotel to hotel to car…and back home.

Learn how to create smart phone apps, and then launch BINKY TRACKER 5000. No pacifier will be able to escape into the depths of…wherever they go.

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My Love Affair with the Chauffeur

When I had my son, I was lucky enough to also obtain an on-call chauffeur to my household staff. Actually, the driver is the sole person comprising the household staff. Either way, it’s really nice being able to hangout out chatting with Gus in the backseat and then, VOILA! just show up at our destination.

Every once and a while, though, our driver listens to Dave Matthews or old Linkin Park too loudly, and Gus and I (and Sophie the giraffe) roll our eyes and Rock Paper Scissors to determine which of us have to tell the driver we prefer his transportation services to his DJ-ing. Then, we giggle in the back and keep playing the “crazy faces that will give mom lots of wrinkles before she is 30” game, and our nice chauffeur just keeps driving.

Brian probably doesn’t really like when I call him our driver.

…but I’m so grateful to have a husband that will let ME take the backseat! I do still spend time with him as my husband, although I have noticed I rarely post pictures with/of him these days. I now understand how easy it is to slip into mom mode and not recover. I underestimated the difficulty of balancing my different roles! It’s tough to transition between being an attentive mommy, who cares about nothing but lying on the floor playing with her baby, and a wife, who wants to have enough energy to try to be a beautiful, interesting conversationalist with her husband…preferably not sprawled on the kitchen floor, preferably showered, preferably speaking a few octaves lower. Throw going to work into the mix, and sheesh.

This is how identity crises happen.

Brian and I DO still go out, and although I am a horrible picture-taker, here are at least three examples of proof. He is the kindest, most patient husband to me, and I appreciate HIM taking the backseat sometimes as I’m figuring this all out. Here’s to continuing to date through parenthood, and having toys picked up when husbands come home. (I make no mention of dinner being ready.)
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Some may think it's not a real date if it's with family. I say it's a real date if I paid a babysitter.
Some may think it’s not a real date if it’s with family. I say it’s a real date if I paid a babysitter.

Note to self: Be better at Brian documentation.

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