Last year, I learned the hard way that vacations with little kids aren’t super relaxing.
I had higher, albeit more realistic, hopes for vacation this year though.
Round-the-clock nursing ended a long time ago. Gus loves water. He’s really into going for walks. He loves playing with other kids, and we’d be at the beach for a week with all his cousins.
This year would be more fun for all of us.
I was, it turns out, mistaken.
Day One: I lose one of my contacts in the pool. I’ve never, ever, lost a contact lens in the almost 20 years I’ve worn them. I didn’t have a spare, so my options were either the ‘ole pirate squint, or glasses on the beach (which I hate).
Day Two: Gus gets a cold. I mean, it happens, but usually not until we get home and all those little kid germs catch up with us.
Days Three & Four: Instead of sleeping, Gus decides to scream at us, at the top of his lungs, every one to three hours, only to eventually decide to get up for the day somewhere between 5-6 a.m. He’s cutting his last four molars. He’s got that cold. We we’re having AC issues in our room. We figured it was all of the above.
Day Five: After more inconsolable nighttime screaming, we notice he’s wheezing a lot, which was new. After a few hours of listening, repositioning, nursing (you name it) we decide to take him to the local beachy medical center. Several hours and hundreds of dollars later, it’s determined he has bronchiolitis – and he’s not a fan of chest X-rays, or his doctor (nor were we).
So we decided to pack up a few days early and head home to follow-up with our regular pediatrician, sleep in our own bed, and let the baby watch his precious Curious George DVDs which he asked for the entire time we were gone.
I did get to eat at my favorite restaurant, I swam in the ocean for a hot second, I managed to get some pictures of Gus and his cousins on the beach, see my family, and I still found time to read a book, so it wasn’t a total loss.
Next year though, I’m sure will be better.