Around 2:03 in the afternoon on Friday, I whisked the HBH (Hot Black Husband) off to a not-so-secret location of a baby-moon weekend. See, we used to be really, really good about overnights and weekends away, driving to Monterey and Carmel, Nevada City and Marin County. And then we had a kid. So my husband would get away for a weekend, holing up with the boys or at a spiritual retreat, or I’d get away to write or speak or lead music somewhere. We’d get minor breaks in and of themselves, but never “just because” anymore, always with either Mama or Dada doing time with Cancan.
But that’s no way to live.
No kid should ever be on the receiving end of “doing time,” just as no parent should ever come to the place of feeling like parenting is just another form of glorified, unpaid babysitting. And just as soon as that happens, it’s time to get away. It’s time for Mama and Dada both to jump on the Life Before Kids bandwagon, and remember who they are individually and together, apart from beloved kin.
So when the Cousins offered to take us up on it, I did not turn to the left or right. I did not look behind me or before me, but I jumped on le Internet and booked a room within 2.5 seconds. And then I mumbled a prayer somewhere along the lines of, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dear Sweet Baby Jesus, and pretty pretty please, don’t let Han and Kait change their minds!” I mean, really, although the prayer contained an air of graciousness and included the name of the One Who Can Really Get Things Done, it was more so a plea that things go my way, forever and ever, amen.
And then it happened: the weekend arrived, and the HBH’s work schedule got project-crazy, and it wasn’t until the 11th hour whether we knew if we’d actually make it to Mendocino. But we did. And even if he had to work a bit here and there, we still took in the view, directly outside our bedroom window:
We read books (Fangirl, Lit and Soil and Sacrament for me, Unbroken for him), and – miracle of miracle – we showered daily. We ate well and we explored nearby towns, we breathed in Beauty, and the HBH took no less than a thousand snapshots, I’m sure. We talked about things other than the Kid, and we conversed about the Kid …because funny thing is, absence does make the heart grow fonder. So we soaked up texted pictures of our baby, and we laughed wholeheartedly at updates, like this:
This morning I heard “talking,” so I went to get him out of the crib and as soon as I walked in he threw his blanket over him and laid dead still, trying not to giggle. I said, “Oh no, Cancan’s gone!” and he went “Oh NOOOO” and ripped the blanket off.
And we said YES. This is good and this is necessary, because we are, well, we – and we must not forget who we are and why we said yes in the first place. So friends, think about it. Think about leaving your baby – whether your baby is actually a miniature human or a saved document on your computer, man’s best friend or that project you’ve worked on every weekend – for just 48 hours, in order to remember who you really are, to get back to the heart of whatever the “we” actually is.
What about you? Have you gotten time away from your “baby” to remember the essence of you, the salvation of true love? Share a story!