Lost of firsts going on in these parts:
- First set of teeth
- First official crawl
- First official crawl to the nearest air vent
- First official crawl to the nearest air vent followed by a loud NO by mama
- First official smile at loud NO by mama
- First official crawl back to air vent after loud NO by mama
- First official sound of the ‘It’s so RELAXING having a baby. What’s the big deal’ balloon popping.
- First official head side-tilt towards Grandma & Grandpa which they insist is because she feels sorry for them.
- First official throw up
- First official gag from mama at said throw up
But mostly, there was our first official family vacation.
A vacation for whom, exactly? I’m still not sure on that point, BUT it was a nice getaway to see friends and family in a new setting.
If you haven’t read our air travel adventures at The Mobile-Homemaker, please do. I think the main thing I took away from that experience was to really expect the absolute worst. Throw up, Diaper Explosions, Screaming. And then when it doesn’t happen, you’re trip has already exceeded your expectations.
Our initial trip itinerary was to rent a beach house with friends who’ve all had babies within a year of each other. This way we don’t have to make lame apologies or excuses to non-baby friends. We’re all in the same boat and get it.
But first we made a pit stop at my cousin’s house in the Jacksonville, FL area.
Here’s the trip layout:
- Fly to Jacksonville
- Stay with cousins a few days
- Drive to Folly Beach
- Make a pit stop in Savannah, GA on the way
- Stay at beach house for a week
- Drive back to Jacksonville
- Fly home
Not gonna lie.
I was nervous about all the travelling. It’s about four hours from Jacksonville to Folly Beach and even though Ruth is a rock star on road trips, I didn’t know how all of the action leading up to her time in the car seat would pan out.
So, we arrived at my cousin’s house on a Friday afternoon. She texted me to say she was picking up her daughter from school and to let ourselves in. We were literally within minutes of arriving at this point. R was driving and I was telling him his next turn. We both are looking either way for a street sign and when we turned our heads back to the road, a cop was standing there waving us into a drive.
I’m not the best with cops. It usually ends with me asking if they hit their quota and them am surprised when I never get out of a ticket. This time I decided to keep my mouth shut.
He came over. R rolled down the window. I rolled my eyes and shut my mouth.
Hey there. I stopped you because you were going 11 over….
…The regular speed limit. And this is a school zone.
[Insert typical excuse here: Rental Car, Don’t know the Area, Didn’t see School Zone sign]
Well, normally it would cost $450, but I’ll just give you a ticket for Unlawful Speeding.
Okay, Thank you.
Guess what time it was: 2:08pm.
Guess what time the school zone was over: 2:10pm
The detailed instructions on where to find a beer was going to come in handy. Thank you, Cousin B
We arrived $150 lighter and marveled at their screened in porch that is the same size as The Shack., waited for our hosts to join us, then changed into our swimsuit for a dip in the pool.
Another first for Ruthie.
She loved it. And I mean loved it. We tried putting her in a little baby carrier pool thing, but she wanted to be held directly in the water so she could kick and flit freely like a little mermaid.
Our time there was short-lived, so I had to squeeze in as much bonding time as possible. To do this, within minutes of seeing my cousin, I grabbed my upset stomach and yelled for the nearest bathroom. The two other bathrooms were being used, so as I ran like a chicken with my head cutoff, she hollered ‘Go Straight, Turn Right, Light a Match’ like I was a rat in a maze.
But that’s how I roll: Hi B. Haven’t seen you since Christmas before Ruth, now give me a match. Strike that, give me a book of matches.
Whatever. She didn’t care.
It went uphill from there, thankfully. Candyland games, steak dinners, lounging on the couch with a glass of red wine and watching Betty White’s hidden video show, listening to R and B’s husband (B) sitting in the dark laughing at cartoons.
And listening to monsters growl from little boy B’s pockets. Here’s how a typical conversation with him went.
What’s up little boy B.
Oh my gosh! What was that?!!
[pulling open a pocket] That was Wolfman. He’s loud.
Do you always carry Wolfman in your pocket?
No. I let him out at night to play. Rawrawrarrrrr!!!
What was THAT?
Just the creature from the black lagoon.
Whaaat? How many do you have in there, I’m scared!
There’s five. They keep me up at night. It’s tiring.
Tell me about it, kid. I’ve got the same problems.
It varied from time to time, depending on the different monster in his pocket at that moment, but it all amounted to him being exhausted from taking care of them.
Until one time I heard Rawrawrrarrrrr!!!
Oh my gosh, was that Dracula!?
No one. It was my stomach growling.
Ruth’s stomach was growling too, so I used every one of B’s mixers to make some veggie slop.
No literally. Every utensil.
Hey, I just got up close and personal with your bathroom, B… can I now dirty everything within hands reach in your kitchen and then bail out on dishes after you only insist on doing them yourself one time.
I did offer. Promise.
The saddest part of the visit was leaving. Little girl B told us several times that it would be okay if we just stayed there forever. I asked her to double check that one with her mom. And a couple hours into our drive to Charleston, I noticed that we missed a call. It was little girl B. She wanted to tell us she missed Ruth.
Up (kinda) next: Two City Tours. One of them was calm and collected. The other was Jersey Shore on crack.
Even Ruth thought so.