I was going to hold off on posting until I got back from vacation. I wanted to just take a break from blogging and infertility and drama for five days. But alas, you cannot take a break from reality, even when you are in paradise.
I could not wait to post because 1) shit is on my mind, 2) it’s a lot of shit, so I don’t want to post it all at once and 3) relaxing vacations offer plenty of spare time to write, write and write some more.
Here I am on Grand Cayman Island, staying at The Ritz-Carlton and trying to enjoy myself. There was one cute baby on the plane. Fine, OK, I dealt with it. But apparently someone forgot to mention that there must be a Pregnant Women’s Convention here at the hotel. Within the first ten minutes of sitting by the pool on the first day, Pregnant Woman #1 waddled her happy pregnant ass over and plopped into the chair right next to me. Awesome. Then Pregnant Woman #2 passed me in the hallway. Today is day two and around Pregnant Woman #6 (in a cute bikini, no less) I’ve stopped counting and just resigned myself to laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing. I would not classify this as a “kid-friendly” hotel by any means. I would not come here for a wild and fun family vacation. But I guess there are a lot of lawyers and hedge fund managers here and the men brought their wives to enjoy the beach while they’re stuck in conferences. Their pregnant wives. Or maybe there’s really a Pregnant Women’s Convention. Frankly, it wouldn’t shock me.
Moral of the story? There’s no escaping your state of mind, even if you leave your state. As frustrating as it was to see those women and the occasional cherubic baby in a stroller, the worst moment so far happened when I casually glanced at Eric in profile and couldn’t help but picture that our babies probably had his facial structure. I don’t know why I thought that and it’s something that could have happened anywhere. It just proves that I’m never safe from my own self-inflicted misery.
I’m making it sound like I’m having a terrible time, but really I’m not. This place is incredible. The water is turquoise and warm, the sand is white, the weather (minus a brief rain shower today) is perfect. My complaints, besides the inundation of pregnant people, are just the food and the prices. I mean, $15 cocktails and $25 salads would be one thing if they were mind-blowing. But honestly? Every single thing I’ve eaten has left me uttering, “I’ve had better,” all while trying hard not to calculate just how much we’ve wasted on dried-out-cheese encrusted nachos.
Tomorrow we’re going snorkeling and swimming with stingrays, two things that are actually worth the money and will hopefully deter the league of pregnant chicks. Tuesday we’re planning to go on a rum distillery tour and a brewery tour, which are things I would not have enjoyed as much if I’d still been knocked up.
As far as existential crises and major life decisions, I’ll save those chats for a later post. Let’s just say I’ve been doing some serious thinking about my life and knowing that I’m a super control freak surrounded by uncontrollable situations, it should make for an interesting next couple of months and even years. I need to make real changes if I want things to change. Simple to say… not so simple to do.
And for now, here’s some sandy toes: