This weekend, we took a teeny, tiny vacation to Rhinebeck, NY, the same quiet town Chelsea Clinton got married it. It smelled good, had a nil downtown scene, and greatly reminded me of the suburbs of New Jersey, but with nice nature trails. We ate well, jogged, read, wrote, slept, and wrestled a lot with Baby.
Baby, or Conan the Destroyer as he likes to go by at home, has entered a stage where he is an adorableâ€¦maniac. He also cannot stand diaper changes, which is challenging since Baby and I seem to now be equal in muscle strength. At one point, we went to lunch Husbandâ€™s friends at the Culinary Institute of America (they have a campus with restaurants for the public), and I felt like I was in The Sopranos. You know how they cut away from a family having a quiet, civilized dinner in a nice restaurant with a guy getting assassinated in the men’s room with a telephone wire? That was our lunch — Husband with friends, me versus Baby in the bathroom for the diaper change. I swear I had to chase him around the stalls and he tore off the straps of my dress in our tussle. I am so freaking tired.
Still, it’s rude to complain about any kind of vacation, and as short and as demanding as some parts of that trip was, I still feel refreshed and focused for the day job. And you know what else? Now I truly am grateful we traveled to the D.R. when he was a little lump we could pass around like a UPS parcel. There’s no way this restless tyke would stand for that now.