We went to Avalon, Catalina, your namesake, last weekend for your first trip since you’ve been on this side of the world. We took you last November, the day after Thanksgiving, when you were in my tummy and Daddy and I stood on a standup paddle board together and tipped over into a kelp bed. We never got that Christmas card photo.
This trip was planned by your Nonnie and Poppy. The first time they took your Aunt Danielle, Aunt Maddie and I, the year started with the number 19 and we had an orange dinghy thats motor indicated with pictures that it could go as slow as a turtle or as fast as a rabbit. Even when “going bunny” we never had to worry about making a wake in the ‘no wake’ zones.
On this trip we slept on the boat three nights with you. The first night some kids on a midnight fishing trip lost power to their motor right outside our window and began cussing and cranking it up only to have it die again repeatedly while we were trying earnestly to get three consecutive hours sleep. On the third night you slept for five hours in a row! A new record! Daddy and I celebrated quietly at 3:30 in the morning until I came down with a low-grade fever and shivered for the next two hours. Turns out my body wasn’t happy I went that long without feeding you. I told your dad I can’t win for loosing with this nursing thing, but I try to remind myself that the more I wake up in the middle of the night, the more of your life I get to see.
One night we took you to your first concert. You and I danced to a cover of Jimmy Buffett’s “A Pirate Looks at 40”. I often sing this song to the ocean when I’m surfing by myself and I sang it to you as a lullaby in the first weeks after you came home from the hospital. I leave out the verses about smuggling drugs and spending time with lots of women most of the time.
You are learning so many new expressions lately it’s easy to see that you are growing up right before our eyes. You stick your tongue out at me when I stick mine out at you. You frown and grunt and I call you grouchy. You yawn and smack your little lips. Every time you smile I want to take a picture. I cry sometimes looking at you and then I tell you that you are beautiful and that I hope you always feel that way. I think you might have changed my body forever, but in order to show you that it makes me honored I still wear my bathing suit with a smile.
The first of many trips to our favorite mystic isle.
p.s. thank you all for the advice, thoughts, comments, stories and help regarding nursing (I’ve decided this word is easier to use on the blog). They made me feel encouraged and so much less alone!
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