This vacation felt ill-timed.

Last week Boston was in turmoil following the marathon bombings on Monday and the lockdown of the entire city and many of its suburbs on Friday. Pregnancy insomnia woke me early, early, early on Friday morning and I sat in the dark in front of the flickering TV watching the news, one hand on my belly and the other on my phone, texting a close friend who lives within minutes of where the shootout and eventual capture of the suspect took place.

At noon on that same day, we closed on our house. A happy event, no doubt, but one overshadowed by unease and nerves frayed from lack of sleep. Our first day of homeownership was not exactly the way we had pictured it, but nothing last week was.

That evening we got a flat tire.


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We drifted through the weekend, taking trips to Target, cleaning our apartment and our new house, and preparing for our vacation. When we booked it, we hadn’t even seen this house and had no way of knowing that all these events would topple over one another, cascading one after another as we ran ourselves ragged trying to keep up.

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The cab arrived at 4am on Wednesday to take us to the airport. We locked ourselves out of our apartment building with our luggage still inside, tantalizingly close but completely out of reach.


It is surprisingly difficult to rouse your neighbors on the phone at 4am. One finally answered and we whooshed inside, a whirling dervish of apology and humble gratitude. Our good-natured cabbie simply smiled, not bothered by the wait, and delivered us to the airport on schedule.

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And now we are here. It has been three days of sun and seaside breeze and sand squishing between my toes. The tension I carried with me from the cold and windy northeast has uncoiled, softened, washed out to sea with the tides.

We are non-golfers staying a golf resort in the off-season, which means that it is quiet. The beach is peaceful in its solitude, we have our pick of tables at every restaurant, and there is no traffic.

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I’m getting big enough that intense activity and long afternoons of sight-seeing are tiring and make my back hurt. So we don’t do that. We walk on the beach, read by the pool, and knit baby sweaters in the shade (that’s more my thing than Will’s).

I am so very, very excited to meet this baby. I have entered the third trimester and my countdown is in the double digits (88 days, give or take). Even so I am enormously grateful that Will and I have the opportunity to take this last vacation together, just the two of us.

This is our not-so-ill-timed vacation.

It’s perfect.


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