Have Baby, Will Travel

We recently returned from a trip to Martha's Vineyard, where we've vacationed for the last nine summers. This trip was a little different from those of the past. For years it was just the two of us. We'd wake up at 10 a.m., head off to the beach, indulge in an overpriced meal of calamari and clam chowder, and then go dancing until what constitutes the "wee hours" on the island. Even last summer wasn't a radical departure from the norm. Baby was only four months old; we'd throw her in a carrier and tote her along to our beach or dining establishment of choice. Granted, we had to curtail our nighttime activities, but for the most part it was leisure as usual.

Things are different now. Whereas we used to worry there wouldn't be time to pick up some Mike's Hard Lemonade before catching the ferry, we now go into into a panic if we forget a favorite toy. (How could we possibly depart for the beach without My Pal Violet, the singing dog?) But it's not just the packing...the function of the vacation itself has changed. Vacations no longer allow us to feel carefree, relaxed and rested. There's no longer a sense that this is "my time," where I don't have to do anything or answer to anyone. Because we always have to answer to a two-foot redhead with her own set of demands. Yes, they are small demands--food, water, the ability to climb up and down the steps twenty times in a row--but they are demands nonetheless.

Instead, the family vacation offers a series of moments. Watching baby frolic in the ocean for the first time. Waking up to a set of brown eyes peeking out curiously from above the wall of her pack 'n play, thrilled to see Mommy and Daddy first thing in the morning. Chasing after baby as she dashes unsteadily down the streets of Vineyard Haven, greeting every passerby with a joyful "hi!" as she wobbles along with unshakable determination. Explaining to baby about boats, and oceans, and galleries, and watching her world grow a tiny bit bigger as she takes in every new detail.

Years from now I won't remember how mellow I used to feel when I returned to work after a trip to the Vineyard. But I will remember my baby's smile as she ran toward me on the beach, both of us ecstatic to be reunited after her swim with her dad. Or her giggles as she sat on her father's lap and played a racing game at the arcade. Or the unexpected tranquility of the three us lying side by side on a beach blanket, quietly basking in the sun like old companions lost in individual reverie. And, most of all, I'll remember the way it felt for the three of us to be together all day, without the constant interruptions of work and email and cell phones.

Yes, our trips to the Vineyard are certainly different these days. But I wouldn't trade this patchwork of memories for all the Mike's Hard Lemonade-inspired nights and late mornings in the world. Compared to family bonding, relaxation is highly overrated.