Sandy Underpants

One thing I don’t like about the beach is all the sand.  Actually, that’s the only thing I don’t like.  I know that doesn’t make sense (to anyone but me), but I love hanging out in the sun, playing in the water and reading good books.  I just hate the feel of gritty sand on my skin.

So imagine my surprise at what a vacation at the beach is like with an infant.

Five minutes into our first beach excursion, Conor starts crying because of all the newness of the gigantic bathtub with wavy water and all the dirt Mommy is letting him play in, and he wants to be held.  I do pick him up, but gingerly.  About a foot and a half away from me.  Because he was covered in sand!!!

Well, that didn’t fly.  So after, let’s just say, about 25 years of avoiding sand, I spent the last week covered in it.  I don’t just mean a few flecks o’ sand here and there.  I mean that my waist, legs, and booty were coated in sand every time I’d pick him up.  I’d even walk around a bit like that, looking very much like the geeky beach girl I’ve always been.

It was fine though.  The little guy figured out how to play in the sand and loved knocking down the sand castles we built out of his stackable cups.  The sandcastles, however, were not nearly as much fun as just sitting like a big boy in a grown up sized beach chair watching some people walk by and others tossing a Frisbee or a football between them.  The latter ball tossing is apparently very, very funny in baby-world.  He would guffaw at adults tossing items back and forth to each other.  Who knew babies had such a warped sense of humor? 

OK.  I’m pooped.  Today was the first day back at school and I already feel overwhelmed and behind.  Tomorrow is class prep and finishing and essay.  Tonight, I just want sleep forever.  As a preview of the next exciting episode of the blog, let’s just say it involves a screaming baby, a side road, bare boobs and a sheriff. 

9:22:46 PM