As my wife and I strolled the cozy little streets of downtown Fernandina Beach, there was a moment when I think we both turned to each other and blurted out, “Where’s the baby?!?”
That’s normally a running joke with us. If we go out to lunch sans the 2-1/2-year-old, someone will inevitably stop to ask where the kid is. “Oh my gosh,” one of us will say, hands clasped to face, “where’d she go!?!” or “I told you not to give her the car keys?” Sometimes people laugh; sometimes people call 911. It’s a mixed bag of reactions.
But this time it didn’t feel like a joke. It really felt like we’d lost her — like we didn’t know where she was. “Um, didn’t you have her?”
Here we were, a whopping 50-plus miles from St. Augustine, spending our first night EVER away from her. We felt naked, and it was kind of unnerving. A part of us — an important part — was missing. It felt weird, kind of awkward and almost like a guilty pleasure. Were we guilty of something?
And most of all, would she be OK? Would she miss us? Would she think we weren’t ever coming back? Would she understand? Would she sell off the house or get her nose pierced? Who’s to say? We didn’t know.
Yet, at the same time, it was also quite nice.
We were celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary. It was three months late. I had ruined the real anniversary weekend when I got the funny idea to impale my thigh on a surfboard fin. Pain meds and oozing wounds don’t make for very good romance.
But all healed up, we were now gallivanting around Amelia Island, free to do whatever we wanted without stroller, sippy cups, plastic alligator toys or the broken-record pleadings of two modern-day parents imploring their child to “just eat one more bite” or “stop running around the house naked! You’re gonna pee on something.”
She was at home with my mother-in-law and sister-by-marriage, and we swingin’ kids were living it up.
It was exciting — liberating and even rejuvenating. We felt light and bouncy. It took no time to get in and out of the car, and we could pass a dog without hearing, “pet it?”
Sure, there were the 12,000 phone calls to check and make sure all was well. We got regular updates: it’s raining; the dog threw up; is there supposed to be a raccoon sleeping in your bed?
It’s tough to make a clean break.
I made fun of my wife before we left for her endless directions and long, typed-out memos to her family. They covered everything from how to turn on the TV to which dogs in the neighborhood to avoid on walks. She left notes on the cabinet doors that told them which had Cheerios and which had pasta.
“Did you put a note on the freezer that said ‘ice’?” I asked.
But she’s a caring mom, and it’s tough to leave your only child, even if just for 24 hours. Better to care than not. I give her credit for handling it so well, and for being able to relax and enjoy herself once we finally drove away.
Funny how 24 hours can mean so many things. It marked a decade of marriage — of two people not killing each other and really being wonderfully happy in their bond. But it was also a milestone in parenthood. Not just a celebration of the past, and all we had been through, it was also a glimpse into the future, and where we were going.
Our little girl was growing up. She talked to us on the phone — really told us things. She didn’t need us all the time, and enjoyed her time while we were away.
There’s something sad about that in many ways, and exciting in others.
The truth is it won’t be long before people stop asking “where’s the baby?” and it sure won’t be long before we’re all worried that she’s taking the car out for a spin. Maybe it’s good we enjoyed the peace and quiet while it lasted.