My husband and I went away for five days and four nights. We didn’t take our kids with us. We left them at home to fend for themselves–the baby can change his own diapers, right? Just kidding. We left them with my husband’s spry and active parents, who made sure they ate their broccoli, went to museums and didn’t watch much TV.
So the kids were better off without us anyway, right? Right. Right?? Confession: I may have had just a smidge of mommy guilt when we were carousing around Key West.
So. Key West. Our vacation involved jet-skiing, gauzy white hammocks and the discovery that there is more than one type of rum. We dined at a restaurant called Better Than Sex. (And it…wasn’t. Because we were in Key West. Without children.)
When I wasn’t drinking, sleeping, squealing with delight as the rented jet ski hit 23 miles an hour–woo-hoo!–I did think about our beautiful children.
And it seemed like approximately 88% of our conversations at romantic tables for two involved them. (The other 12% went something like this: “Do you think that’s a drag queen?” “Do you think that’s a prostitute?” “What kind of margarita did he say this was?”)
Believe me, I was thrilled when we got home and our kids–shiny and clean, properly hydrated, filled with stories about their visit to a sea turtle sanctuary–came flying into our arms with glee.
But I have to admit, last night when the baby woke up twice because he’s getting molars, and my 6 year old woke up twice because her foot fell asleep (“Well, why can’t the rest of you, then???”), I did miss my margaritas and prostitutes, just a bit.
Jorie is the “Vitamom” who edits Momonomics.com. She has three kids, ages 20 months to 9 years. She has been dumping chia seeds on her food and swapping out real peanut butter for PB2 in an effort to undo the caloric damage of all of that rum and key lime pie.