I would like to officially state, for the record of life, that tropical vacations are not relaxing when a Baby/Toddler Hybrid of Terror and Unpredictability is in attendance. Waverley is a great, low-key-for-the-most-part, little babe. She has traveled more in her little life than many people do in a lifetime. She is used to the constant change of scenery/people/life. Yet, at the ripe age of 15-16 months, she morphed into a demanding, stubborn, and loud little girl. She is still a baby, evidenced by her crawling, minimal vocabulary, and chuuuubby thighs. Yet she is almost a toddler, evidenced by her insistence to practice independence with mobility (crawling…despite how disgusting the terrain may be) and refusal to eat what we want her to eat. She is Britney Spears in “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman”, stuck in limbo between two distinct life phases. Poor girl. Poor us. Poor Brit.

Our trip to Hawaii was absolutely lovely, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t go back in time and not go, but I may go back in time and arrange for childcare (as in: leave her at home with Grandma). Taking Waverley to Hawaii provided a similar experience to hanging out with someone who has a serious case of Bipolar Disorder. The highs of having her there were high. I’m talking so high I nearly cried several times because I was so emotional witnessing her reaction to playing in sand and feeling the sensation of waves for the first time. I nearly cried when she literally busted into a doggie paddle on her own with no instruction or encouragement from me. (You guys, her scissor kick for treading water is flawless.) I adored how she demonstrated her love for the water and disdain for anything on land (aside from meals, of course). I melted during the two days we were able to spend with my sister’s family and how obsessed Waverley was with her older cousins and their equal obsession with her. Swimming and picnicking by the light of sunset was idyllic and dreamy. I loved watching Waverley blissfully dig in the dirt at the coffee farm while we picked macadamia nuts. These are moments that will likely remain engraved in my soul forever. Like I said, high highs.

Yet these high highs were accompanied by low lows. Lows that had me wondering: Do I even know how to be a parent? Will Waverley hate being an only child because there is no way I could ever have another? Are my awful-looking cesarean incision, handfuls of loose abdominal skin, and pregnancy-induced stretch marks worth it? Do I even know my husband? Is Waverley destined for obesity because all she will eat are French fries and grilled cheese sandwiches? These lows were filled with disapproving looks from strangers, self-doubt and self-consciousness, abortion of meals half-way through, and needing an adult beverage at 11:00am. Also, our idea of taking Waverley on a helicopter tour (let’s see volcano lava!!) was great for 10 minutes and misery for the subsequent 50 minutes.

Going on vacation with a Baby/Toddler Hybrid of Terror and Unpredictability is not as relaxing as I’d imagined. Clearly, I need to reexamine my expectations.

Plan: I’m going to wake up early and do yoga on the lanai before Waverley wakes up. I will feel refreshed and great in my swim suit.
Reality: Waverley woke up hours earlier than normal because she slept in an uncomfortable pack and play and because Hawaii does not stay dark until 10:00am like Alaska. No yoga was ever accomplished. Not once.

Plan: After Waverley goes to bed, I am going to look fabulous and wear all of my bright and beautiful Tom Ford lipsticks that seem out of place in Alaska. Nate and I will go to the hotel bar to enjoy being adults and indulge in fun Hawaiian beverages.
Reality: By the time Waverley went to bed, we were so exhausted from the day that all we could muster was laying down in a cabana with our non-hotel adult beverages (because the bar was closed by then). We were usually back to the room in an hour to go to sleep since Waverley woke up so early.

Plan: I am going to read at least one, if not two, books while laying in the sun in between swimming sessions. I foresee Waverley playing at my feet in the sand/shallow water while giggling. I may or may not have a piña colada in my non book-holding hand. I will have plenty of time to work on pearls on a string and answer students’ emails regarding their upcoming exam.
Reality: I read 1/2 book and loved every minute of it. The rest of the time I was chasing Waverley to ensure sure she didn’t eat sand, making sure she didn’t drown in the shallow water, making sure she didn’t steal everyone else’s beach toys, cleaning sand off of whatever she was throwing it on in that moment. I usually had no beverage in my hand and was actually quite thirsty.

Plan: When Nate is taking his classes Waverley and I will have the best time ever. We will enjoy fresh fruit, relax by the pool and ocean, and get perfectly sun kissed.
Reality: Waverley will be quite cranky due to her lack of sleep yet will not want to take a morning nap. The stroller (along with my phone) will fall into the pool because it’s so windy. I will get a fierce sunburn because I was too busy fighting the wind and saving the stroller (and my phone) to put on sunscreen that morning.

So, you see, tropical vacations are lovely and amazing and necessary and life-affirming. We played, laughed, ate amazingly fresh seafood, tried new things (I did not care for strawberry mochi yet I thoroughly enjoyed lilikoi everything), and explored the beautiful Big Island. Tropical vacations are made better and worse by bringing along a Baby/Toddler Hybrid of Terror and Unpredictability. You just have to know what you’re getting into.

Aloha.