My husband and I love to travel. Since university, we’ve travelled at least once a year, be it flying out to Europe or driving out west along the Trans Canada. So when we found a last minute deal on a cruise to the Bahamas, we said “Hells yeah” and packed our luggage like it was the end of days. (Side-note: Isn’t it awesome that it’s 2013 and we’re all still alive? Take that, Mayans!)
We boarded the ship with smiles and optimism. We had nailed the flight to Orlando (munchkin slept most of the way *insert choir of angels singing here*). I had this vision of what our trip would be like: he would eat wherever, nap in his stroller, and we would spend hardly any time in the room. Oh, and of course I would magically lose my mummy tummy the moment I slipped my bikini on.
Alas, reality was waiting for us in our tiny tiny stateroom. Munchkin hated the nursing cover (well, it’s more like he loved to rip it off), he refused to nap anywhere (which meant he was more than a little loco by day 3), and nothing could stop me from obsessing over whether he had enough sunblock on (as it is, all three of us are as pasty white as the day we left).
Then, on day 2, something amazing happened: we got to dip his little feet into the ocean. He felt sand. We watched him laugh and bounce during the evening show. We beamed at each person who fawned over him.
I realized that like anything else post-baby, the trip was not going to be the same as previous ones, but that’s not to say it wasn’t going to be enjoyable. Experiences like drinking until 2 am and tanning on the deck sipping Mai Tais were simply traded in for new experiences like watching the munchkin’s first sunset or laughing at his strange reaction to sand beneath his feet.
We had an amazing (and very very exhausting) time, and I would do it again in a heartbeat!