Last weekend, my husband and I embarked on a four-day and three-night getaway to Boston.
We used our flight credits from our botched vacation in July, and decided to take some time "just for us" before baby #2 arrives in March. I believe the trendy term for this trip is a "babymoon."
(I'll add that word to the list of pregnancy related terms I dislike, along with "Preggers" and "Pushing Present.")
Anyway, the trip we had been fantasizing about for a two months didn't get off to a great start. I came down with a bad cold the day before we left, and my husband also started feeling ill. Awesome.
The morning of our flight, I was so sick (congested, sneezing, chills, etc...) I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to fly. The last time I flew sick, I thought my head would explode mid-air. I was terrified.
Well, somehow I managed to convince myself that I would survive the flight (after texting my doctor friends, my flight attendant friend, and stopping a Pilot at the airport to confide in him my fears...) What can I say? I need a little (err, a lot) of reassurance sometimes!
Once we landed, we found our B&B and spent the better half of the day resting in bed with a box of Kleenex. It was bliss. Seriously.
10 gallons of snot later, we gathered up enough energy to wander around Harvard square, and had a nice dinner. Sure, we stopped 10 times to rest on benches like 80 year old asthmatics, but hey, we weren't in any rush! We were in a new city, with lots to look at. We were taking time to really "smell the roses" you know? Except...we couldn't smell. Whatever, just go with it.
Regardless of our lingering sickness, we managed to enjoy 2.5 full days and 2 full nights in Boston: wandering around markets, eating seafood, shopping, napping, reading, and enjoying one another's company.
It was really nice to have some time together to re-connect and just be "us". With no scraped knees to tend to or dirty dishes to lure us into the kitchen, we were able to relax and just hang out. If only I could have had some wine... *dreamy sigh*
However, our dreamy vacation was cut short when I got a text from my mom informing me that Cole had bronchitis and a sinus infection and was starting to wheeze. My mommy instinct couldn't stay away any longer, and I re-booked my flight (again) and flew home a day early to be with our boy.
*sigh*
As soon as I got home, I wrapped my arms around my sick little boy and we had a sleepover in his room. I thought about my husband alone in Boston, and fell asleep wishing I had perfected my cloning device so I could be in two places at once. I should have paid better attention in Science class. Damnit...
But even though I had to come home early, I was glad that despite the snot-fest, my husband and I were able to have a relaxing and enjoyable..."babymoon." We truly relaxed, and maybe being sick was a way to really ensure we slowed down our naturally fast pace. Maybe? I'm trying to be optimistic...
Now tell me, did you take a "babymoon" (shit, I've said it three times now) when you were pregnant? What do you do to find your bliss and relax before the baby comes?
SIDE NOTE: I'm hoping that my solo weekend vacation to Blissdom Canada in ywo weeks is a little less snot filled because I would really like to be able to shake the hands of the women I meet at the conference...
For more articles, tips, and tricks to help you get organized and make the most of your blog and business visit our BlissDom Canada 2014: How Do You Find Your Bliss? page.
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Hey, you know that thing where you're pregnant and terribly sleep deprived and then you become a raging pscyho bitch?
"No, not you Jen! You're so sweet. You're so nice."
That's probably what you're thinking...unless you're my husband.
Lately, I've been murdering my husband with my eyes. Death daggers. All the time. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
HIM: "Hey, good morning!"
ME: (death daggers)
HIM: "Do you want me to go grocery shopping, or do you want to go?"
ME: (death daggers)
*sigh* My poor, poor husband. Why do I bottle up all of my rage for him, and him alone? I think I've figured it out, and it's all very scientific:
Since I'm growing a child that is 1/2 his DNA, my body probably releases RH2 whenever he is near (rage hormone #2). I released RH1 when I was pregnant with our first child, but RH2 is more intense because it's the second child. RH exists as the body's way of making the male partner accountable for his role in the pregnancy. The women have to endure morning sickness, tender breasts, bloating, indigestion, constipation etc...so this is the body's natural way of evening out the playing field a little. When a woman is releasing RH, there is no sexual intercourse. Men are too scared of the woman, and are too afraid to touch her. This takes pressure off of the woman, and makes everyone happier.
So there you have it ladies and gentlemen. Now please excuse me while I go and write my official dissertation on the subject matter...
Do you ever look down at your arm, and wonder, "How did that three-inch black hair grow so long before I noticed?"
Have you ever looked at a video of Miley Cyrus riding a wrecking ball and thought, "Wow, she has a great body?" Completely ignoring the fact that in the next frame she's licking a hammer?
Have you ever caught yourself staring at a woman's butt while waiting in line at Tim Horton's and thought, "Wow, she's totally breaking the leggings rule...but it's okay because her ass is perfect. I sort of want to poke it, and see if it's real. Seriously. That is a perfectly sculpted butt." And then immediately feel a need to start doing squats in line?
Is it possible to convince yourself that labour the second time around won't hurt as much?
Is it also fair to hope that your breasts might end up looking BETTER after breastfeeding your second child? Like, "Congratulations. You did it again! I'll replace your shriveled ballsacks with full and bouyant C cups!"
Do you ever meet other mom's at local playgroups who are all decked out with make up and fashionable clothes and then instantly hate them a little bit? But at the same time, feel magnetically drawn towards them because you're hoping their gorgeousness will rub off due to sheer proximity? But then once you're close to them, you realize they can see your dry skin and smeared mascara—so you shrivel into a ball of self-hatred while secretly smelling their expensive perfume as you imagine that even their farts probably smell like Chanel no.5 ?
That's all for today folks.
Welcome to the randomness of my brain. Have a great day!
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