Perhaps I easily return to this blissful day, seven years ago, because it was one of the last as me, just Amy. Not Mama, MA! Mom, Mommy or *shudder* Mother. My husband and I were on our “Babymoon.” We didn’t know at the time this was a thing, but a friend later used the word and it struck with a chord of clarity in my ears.
My husband, Brad, spent his days patiently and tirelessly sifting through the wave-churned shells and sand in the surf, searching for the sharks teeth that this area of Florida is famous for. After the sun would set, I’d waddle my 7 ½ month pregnant self across the warm sand and back to our cool, peaceful hotel suite. (It was this resort on Siesta Key. We’ve stayed there several times, including with children, and can’t say enough about how awesome they are.)
The memory of these days play quietly in my head. I didn’t know then what I do now: the struggle of little kids at the beach (the sand, the stuff, the never sitting still, THE SAND in the mouth and the bodies and sand everywhere!!!), the lack of me-time (I read books all.day.long and no one stopped me!), and the sleeping – sleeping late, taking naps, staying up late.