The time has finally arrived– Ben and I are headed to Mexico in a few days, sans kids, for our first solo vacation since before Rosie was born. In fact, the last time we went on vacation by ourselves, I was actually two months pregnant with Rosie, and it turns out that being pregnant at an all-inclusive resort is about as fun as just lugging your Pack and Play to a different country and setting up shop in the Little Explorers club in the shallow end of the pool. While also vomiting intermittently, although I imagine other people at an all-inclusive resort might run into that problem regardless.
And yes, we are aware that Mexico is a hotbed of corruption, drugs, kidnapping and death. When we went there on our honeymoon nine years ago, we had to arm wrestle a heroin kingpin every night when we wanted to get back into our room, not unlike the Fat Lady in Gryffindor tower. We’re looking forward to visiting with him upon our return, to see if he’ll finally make good on that promise of a mountain of cocaine we can bury our faces in.
But did you know that, in addition to being a nightmarish hellscape, Mexico actually looks like this?
It also inexplicably has pigs wandering around, sharing discarded McDonald’s with feral cats. This alone was worth the price of admission to Mexico, in my opinion.
Of course, before we make it south of the border, we still need to run the gauntlet of preparations necessary to even make it out of our driveway. The kids need five days’ worth of outfits, plus spares, t-shirts in case it gets warm, winter boots in case it gets cold, books and blankets and favorite DVDs and toiletries and stuffed animals and possibly we might just put our entire house on a flatbed truck and move it over to the babysitter’s for a few days because that would honestly be easier than gathering up all this shit. Then I need to unearth my summer clothes, rifle through them sadly looking for something that will fit me after a winter of gluttony and neglect, and spend several hours feeling very bad about my physique before remembering that literally no one I see in Mexico will ever see me again, and then say fuck it and dig out my old bikini.
But all this preparation can’t possibly be as stressful as planning a wedding, so I figure I have it easier than last time we went to Mexico. Besides, having lost our luggage for the beginning of our honeymoon, I know for a fact that there is a Wal-Mart in Playa Del Carmen, so anything we forget, we can always just buy.
Like a bottle of tequila for the people watching these two for a week.