Every week, my husband and I look forward to a relaxing weekend. Then, when Saturday finally rolls around, we are reminded of the fact that we have a 13 month old boy, who is like a goddamn wind up toy – you put him down on the ground and he’s on the move until you pick him back up again.
This past weekend, we had big plans to get a good night’s sleep on Saturday, and go to the beach early on Sunday. My brother in-law was going to come as well. The boys were going to surf, while Liam and I relaxed on the beach. For the record, I don’t do the ocean.
I grew up in NY, on Long Island….In the Hamptons.
Yeah! That’s right! The Hamptons!
No, I did not grow up in a mansion on the ocean and no, I do not know the Kardashians or Sean Puffy Combs or whoever else is hanging out there these days.
Anyway, the Atlantic ocean is like a warm bath with gentle ripples in comparison to the Pacific. Here in LA, the ocean is fucking cold and full of seaweed, with a congregation of the biggest douchebags on the planet (not that the people on the Hamptons’ beaches are any better). LA has some serious douche-baggers, especially on Abbot Kinney in Venice. I thought they were bad in Hollywood, but Venice is truly the worst.
After living in LA for over 14 years, I don’t have much hope for humanity….but, I will never stop hoping, that when Liam grows up, he will stay away from surfing, rock climbing, sky diving, and anything else that requires his feet to leave the safety of solid ground. I also hope he never turns into a douchebag, but the chances of that are slim, since I intend to have a pretty strict no douchebag policy in our home.
Anyway, back to the weekend…
Here’s what really happened (written in the style of Bridget Jones’ clever short hand).
8:30pm – Too lazy to make a real dinner, throw some frozen potstickers into a pan, and make a simple salad so as not to feel malnourished/like a fat ass.
9pm – Sit down to eat with husband and pour a glass of rosé, while watching Enlightened streaming on HBO GO.
10pm – Realize I’ve had 3 glasses of rosé and 20 potstickers. Feel fat and drunk.
10:30pm – Genuinely depressed to find out that Enlightened was canceled two years ago. Feel very out of touch with pop culture. Was this show even popular?
11pm – Make it to bed at a decent hour, but need to check blog stats
11:50am – Cuddle with husband for a minute before falling asleep.
2:30am – Liam starts crying, I go in to nurse him and wonder if I’m getting him drunk on my breastmilk. Decide it has been long enough to process alcohol.
2:45am – Google, “How to tell if my baby is drunk or just sleepy.”
4am – Woken up by massive earthquake. Jump out of bed to rush into Liam’s room to save him from falling debris. Turns out earthquake is only a 3.9
4:05am – Talk to husband about how it felt like the big one. Exchange our personal account of the earthquake, even though it only lasted a total of five seconds.
4:10am – Realize we aren’t prepared if/when the big one hits.
4:11am – Google, “what to do when an earthquake hits.” Reminded not to go in a doorway. Realize there’s no safe place in the house.
4:15am – Google, “where to buy an earthquake kit.”
4:16am – Have visions of being crushed by ceiling. Imagine running outside to the middle of street. Consider the fact that I would be wearing nothing but underpants (big ones). Resolve to start wearing pajamas.
4:25am – Somehow end up on Facebook, sifting through various mommy posts about EBF, SAHM, DD, DH, and FTM. Curse to self about mommy blog acronyms.
4:30am – Just start to fall back asleep when husband starts snoring.
4:45am – Finally asleep
7:25am – Wake up to cat, with her butthole pointed directly at my face. Sudden sneezing fit from allergies to cat. Sneeze wakes Liam. Liam cries.
8am – Eat healthy breakfast of yogurt, berries, and granola to counter act hangover.
8:30am – Load everyone into car.
8:45am – Make husband stop off to get me a breakfast burrito because yogurt was too healthy/not filling.
9:00am – Finally arrive at the beach.
I had this idealistic vision of getting to the beach – with the sun shining and a cool breeze blowing off the ocean. I imagined lying back in my beach chair, while Liam played quietly with his toys, safely shielded from the sun in head to toe SPF 100 organic sunblock.
But, it turned to be an overcast day. I carried Liam, the diaper bag, burrito, and beach chair down by the life guard stand, to set up our crap. My husband and my brother-in-law stood by the car, in their towels, carefully not flashing anyone their junk while they put on their wetsuits.
After sweating profusely from carrying an entire human and a bunch of stuff to make the beach a pleasant/tolerable place, I set Liam on the beach blanket with his truck and plastic stacking cups.
I exhaled with relief, as I sat back in my beach chair with my burrito. I took a bite and dear god, if that wasn’t the best burrito I’d ever had. It was just egg, sausage, and hash browns…but it was perfect.
Before I could even swallow – Liam was crawling towards the water, across an accumulation of debris consisting of dead jellyfish, old seaweed, and cigarette butts. I had to pick him up and return him to his proper place on the blanket no less than 50 times.
Finally, I had the brilliant idea to share my burrito with him so he’d sit “near mommy, and let mommy relax.” Little did I know, as small as he is, he would eat most of my burrito – we’re talking one of those big thick burritos – the kind where when you’re watching the guy make it, you wonder how he will physically be able to roll it closed.
I know it’s terrible of me to want my baby to sit still, even though I know he is physically incapable of controlling his little body, and needs to roam free to explore.
Like right now…Liam is dying for me to be done writing this. Poor little guy needs to get out in the sun and be with other babies, so he doesn’t end up like Nell – babbling to himself in an abandoned house in the forest somewhere, because his mother didn’t get him out into the world to be properly socialized. On that note, I must be done writing for the day.