An Accidental Second Child Bonding Trip
(No one gets sunburned)
I was happy for them. I really was. I mean, who isn’t happy for their friends when they get engaged? You know, that moment you find out that you’re going to be with someone for the rest of your blissful lives and you want to shout it from the mountain top….or at least the top of your friends’ Facebook feed. Yes, I’ve been there, minus the Facebook, and I was happy for them. Honestly.
But then there’s the business of getting married. Or going to a wedding. Or inviting people to make the 3-hour flight and 6-hour drive to your wedding just to camp with no showers and use Porta-potties. That was Drew and I. So, safe to say, I slightly feared for our wedding Karma. But I figured we were safe—I mean, they live in the same town as us. I estimated it would put us out the cost of a babysitter and a taxi and maybe, if we could manage, the price of some greasy omlettey gravy scramble (times three) with a side of toast in the morning.
That’s when she asked me to be the maid of honor. I promptly reminded her that it would the, eh-hem, matron of honor (afterall, I earned it!) …and then I realized I needed to give her an answer (side note—don’t ever ask Drew about when he asked me to marry him). So of course I said yes.
Then came the Hawaii bomb. I could have choked that sushi and white wine right out of her. Hawaii? Didn’t she know I just had a baby? Has anyone heard of unpaid maternity leave and a no-expenses-paid vacation? I still needed to buy a bike to haul my tater tots around on! We were planning on putting in a porch this summer. And then there were the children. Oh! The Children! Who in the hell was going to haul their diapered asses across the Pacific?
What happened over the next three months was nothing less random than a bingo hall caller’s cry. My husband and I first decided that I would have to go alone with our new son, Abraham–aka Babraham, Abrahandsome, or Abrahammer (we don’t love him at all). He would be just about seven months and still nursing. Drew and Goldie would stay home. Soon, new plan and I was just going by myself. Then, while bawling and watching Adam and Christina on Parenthood celebrate her beating cancer in Hawaii, my hormones called my mother-in-law and asked her to come watch the children for a week so that Drew and I could go together–ALONE. She agreed so fast that it felt right. We were charged. Every trying situation ended with, “but we’re going to Hawaii,” and a slap on the culo.
As the weeks fell off like hibiscus flower petals I found myself feeling more dread and anxiety about the trip than excitement. How could I leave my kids? I had left Goldie alone just one night when she was 18 months, and that was it in 2 and a half years. However, the bloodstained memories of our last flight quelled the fantasy of bringing her along. It was leaving our smiley, easy-going little bear cub that left me sick to my stomach. Plus, I had worked so hard struggling to keep my milk production strong once I had gone back to work, and the thought of pumping for a week just to return to that struggle made my tits (and feelings) sore. One accidental, serendipitous stop at La Leche League and I had confirmation to the answer I knew all along—he would be coming with us.
We got dropped off at the airport and it kind of felt like we had left suitcase (albeit, a suitcase with fast legs and a mind of her own). Our sweet, beautiful daughter was not coming with us. But as we went through the motions of checking in and boarding sans toddler, we found ourselves fist pumping at the ease and confidence we had in just bringing an infant. The plane ride was a breeze—flight attendants trading us the baby for beer and Abe laughing himself to sleep. We got the car, made it to the guest house of the beautiful, if not retro, estate we’d be staying on with the wedding party, and fell asleep to the waves and breezes.
The next morning at dawn my husband, son and I went down to the hot tub on the beach. This was the life. I took a shower (alone!!) and when I came out, my guys were playing and gazing in to each other’s eyes and laughing. Drew looked up at me and said, “You know, this is the first time I have hung out with just Abe for this long, and we are really getting to know each other. He has the most amazing personality!”
As the days went on, Abe relished the attention and reprieve from anticipating and competing with a toddler. The realization gently washed over us that we were on a bonding trip with our second child. We promised each other that if we had another child, we would do the same for them–for all of us. As we lay nursing in bed with all of the windows open and the flowers and chicken calls on the afternoon breeze, his brown eyes smiled and asked, “Hey mama, want to take a nap and listen to the waves?” And, with no one to wake us up or steal his pacifier, we did. And we were in Hawaiian heaven. For a week, it was just the three of us—something we would have never known if it weren’t for that wedding. Thank god they got married in Hawaii so we could all fall in love. I truly believe that Abe will carry the sense of self and security he gained during that trip with him his whole life.
The wedding was absolutely intimate and beautiful. Our daughter and her Gramsy had a wonderful time bonding together on their own. We even came up with one more nickname for our little man: Melekalekeabey. And, every once in a while, we stream the island and go back to the Hukilau in our minds–this time, the four of us.
Maman Bohème 