The Munch and I went on our first vacation together! It was my friend Gita’s birthday and she invited us for a girl’s adventure down to the Caribbean!! Nothing says debaucherous birthday fun like bringing your toddler along for the ride…am I right or what!?
It turns out the majority of people who frequent secluded islands are people on their honeymoon…or babymoon. I actually had never heard of a babymoon and thought there was some peculiar plague of pregnant bitches. It seemed unusual and odd to have so many gestating women in one place. I guess couples like to get some time in the sun before their baby comes out and ruins their lives. Just kidding…. I mean enriches their previously meaningless existences!
The only real drama was that The Munch got a little burnt on our first day out. My dogmatic environmental ideology backfired. Of course I had put the eco-organic-hippy-sunscreen on her because I didn’t want her body laden with toxic chemicals. Ironically, I put on the chemie shit because I didn’t want to use her precious whale semen infused brand – and of course didn’t get burnt at all. The Munch got a little pink because I was supposed to reapply her guava-pulp-iguana-spit-screen every 7 minutes as the crow flies west over the rosy-fingered dawn.
It wasn’t that bad of burn, but I figured the next day I would get her one of those long sleeve “swimmie” shirts that all the other pasty white children were wearing. I got her the cutest one I could find, but knew without Cinderella or some twatt from Frozen plastered on it, she wasn’t going to be into it. The thought of covering up her fiercely adored “Hello Kitty” bikini with a non-Disney endorsed swimmie shirt was NOT making her happy.
After a 2-hour negotiation (and a promise of cake) she finally acquiesced – BUT ONLY IF I WORE A SWIMMIE SHIRT TOO. After all, The Munch didn’t want to get jealous of me wearing my bikini. The only shirt I had that covered the MOST amount of skin that suited my child’s demands was my T-shirt from the plane, which I dutifully wore despite being grossed out with all the plane breath on it. In this Caribbean world where everyone was busy showing off their tan-Pilates-toned physiques, I looked like I had body dysmorphia with my Pink Floyd T-shirt on the pristine sandy beaches. But hey… our shoulders aren’t peeling!
I noticed the other parents had their kids out of the ocean by 6 to have them at dinner, and then in bed by their normal bedtimes of 730/800. Obviously these parents don’t know about my serve your child supper in the shower innovation. It may not be the most hygienic process to feed your kid avocados and crackers amidst their bathing process, but at least we got to stay in the ocean and watch the sunset every night!
The most magical night was our second day when Gita, Jade, Munch, and I all went to the beach for a dusk swim. While The Munch played in the sand, the three of us big girls swam in the sea and talked for 2 hours. We watched Munch collect seashells, make sandcastles, and talk to ladies on the beach who were wondering, “where the hell is your mommy?” But she was making friends! And we had the longest extended period of time where we didn’t have to play “I spy with my little eye…”
My night was topped off with the very special treat of listening to the honeymooning couple in the room next to me have gratuitously loud sex. I turned on every apparatus and technological gadget in the room to drown out her excessive moaning and the rapid slapping of skin. I get it! You are so in love! Can’t you just watch John Stewart like a normal couple?
The flight back always sucks because the anticipation and adrenalin of the time away is a thing of the past, but The Munch had an amazing strategy to liven things up. She decided that during the very short window of time we had to get through customs and make our next plane was the perfect occasion to demand to draw and practice her hearts. Her request was so irrational and crazy I was at a loss as to how to negotiate with her. I gave up, and handed her stupid “Hello Kitty” pencils and “princess book.” The Munch then drew the entire way as we walked through security and the two miles to gate C.
Considering she is three, The Munch is a pretty good travel companion. She was really into the idea of being “just one of the girls,” on a fun “girls adventure.” She’ll probably go back to preschool this week and say to her little classmates, “yeah, me and my friends were just hanging on the beach for the weekend – drinking coconut water and shit.”