When Vacations and Due Dates Collide

LPD writes (beautifully) about this year's trip, years past and the impending birth of Baby D. Enjoy!

It is said that among the greatest joys in this world is to bring a child into it. As WMD and I anxiously await the arrival of our own bundle o’ joy later this month, deep down I can’t help but be a bit bummed that childbirth is causing us to miss our annual vacation on Nantucket. Since Jess found our cherished Surfside rental some ten years ago, I haven’t missed a year. Until now.

The Burds are scheduled to board the Grey Lady for Nantucket tomorrow. Though I’m nine months pregnant with a due date a mere ten days from their departure, there are irrational, daydreamy moments when I plot to call in sick and sneak off for a day trip, just to have an hour at the “Tiki” bar for a [virgin] banana-strawberry daiquiri and feel that Vacation Day #1 vibe. Yes, yes, “there’s always next year,” but this trip is what gets me through each work week from August to June. The rare opportunity to spend a week of unbridled fun with your closest friends is a precious treat in our crazy, responsibility-laden adult lives.

Our short week on the island offers the chance to wake up every morning to the salty sea air, well-rested and beckoned by the smell of coffee and the sounds of pals happily chatting at the kitchen table, comparing digital photos and piecing together the events from the previous night (often while nursing serious hangovers with diet Cokes). The remains of the day include a short walk to lounge on the most beautiful beach in Massachusetts, horseshoes in the backyard, fantastic tunes on the Bose CD player, afternoon cocktail hours on the deck, and water giggles in the hot tub with more people than the max capacity allows. The beer fridge is always stocked with Pinot and Coronas and the Dirt Farmer is always watering his dusty million-dollar plot of land behind the house, whose crop is still a mystery to us after all these years.

Family style dinners with rounds of sangria-infused toasts “To Nantucket!” are followed by sing-alongs in caravan taxis as we head into Town. Cocktails ensue at the Chicken Box, Bamboo Supper Club, Cambridge Street, Gazebo or wherever else we can find that allows us to imbibe freely without techno music and underaged New Yorkers. The evenings end with late-night noshes and kitchen dancing back at the house, often followed by “hot-tubbing” (a verb) or a stumble to the beach to watch the stars and wax poetic ‘bout things pathetic. We retreat to our beds for peaceful, intoxicated slumber...then wake to do it all over again. Each day – each year – brings more laughter and greater memories than the last.

The impending birth of our first child brings feelings of such indescribable joy and I smile uncontrollably each time I think of meeting our son or daughter for the first time. However... I can’t help but think wistfully about another part of my life that I’ll be greatly missing this year. We’ll be back. As I pass along the infamous 3-column “LP Grocery List Template”, I hope our friends have another fabulous year at Smugglers Luck, and ask that they raise a glass (or several) to the new Baby D. I’ll be thinking of you all as I practice my breathing techniques.