When Bad Things Happen to Good People...

...or,"when you try to leave your 16 month old overnight with your parents and all hell breaks lose".

Yeah. Last week, Husband, Ethan and I traveled down to South Carolina to the fresh air and quiet of golf-course livin'. We shacked up with my parents and let the good times roll. Ethan walks now like he invented it, so he was all over the place and developed an immediate almost obsessive love for my father. There was much peek-a-boo & the handing over of imaginary items as well as the over-the-shoulder "pay attention; I'm about to do something adorable" glances as Ethan insisted on leaving fingerprint art all over their sliding glass doors and learned how to get onto his ride-on dump truck. It was deliciously peaceful.

We were in South Carolina to attend the wedding of friends and the night before the wedding we took Ethan with us to a big old southern BBQ on the beach with all our friends, hosted by the bride and groom. There is little I love in this world more than the cool, end of summer breeze gliding through the grass of the dunes and the feeling of cold soft sand on my feet as the sun sets on the beach. Seriously. We're talking major "happy place" imagery (although for the longest time my "happy place" was a random pond in Golden Gate Park in SF because as I sat there one day on a solo vacation several years ago, a little quiet turtle hoisted himself out of the pond and sat contemplatively on the rock next to me--perfection)

Anyway, back to the BBQ. Ethan amused himself by flirting with EVERYONE and at the end of the evening was happy to park himself in the mei tai until it was time to drive home. It was absolutely lovely to sit and chat with friends and begin to feel re-integrated into our social world with Ethan.

BUT, the night of the wedding, Husband and I had been planning a bit of alone time. We had reserved a room at a hotel near the wedding and planned on crashing there after much dancing and drinking with our friends. A night alone in a bed for full-time co-sleepers is a huge deal. And not just because you could actually have sex. In a bed. At night. But because---all that space! And the fluffy pillows! And the comfy duvet! And there is the sex, too. But I digress...

Much as I fretted, Grammy & Grampy were confident in their ability to appease the beast. My mother even prepared herself for her first foray into the liberal hippy world of co-sleeping (for which I am eternally grateful). The night of the BBQ, my mother, Ethan and I slept in my parents' bed so that Ethan could get a feel for it and my mom could get used to the unique nighttime squirminess of a toddler which is one part endearing and one part aggravating as hell. It went well. My confidence grew. Silly, silly girl.

I made lists. Lists of things he likes. Lists of what times to do what. Lists of routines. Lists of where things could be found (um--in Ethan's travel bag). I fretted. I hemmed and I hawed like they were Olympic sports.

And then we left. Very nonchalantly as though we were simply going into the next room, we skulked out of the house and didn't look back. I was so preoccupied with making my escape that I forgot Husband's suit. In the closet. 70 miles from the wedding.

And we didn't realize it until we got out of the car, 90 minutes later and I said, "don't forget your suit" as Husband hoisted our suitcase out of the car. Um. Shit.

So our choices were: A.) Husband drives, an hour and a half back to my parents house and misses the ceremony, leaving me to track down someone, anyone who can drive me to the wedding; B.) Husband wears jeans and t-shirt to the wedding (the horror!!); or, C.) We beg the receptionist at the Hampton Inn to tell us where we can buy a pair of pants.

Apparently you can buy a pair of men's pants at Dillards in under 10 minutes. It was the fastest shopping trip of my life, but it left us with just enough time to get back to the hotel, shower and gussy up for the festivities. Ethan who??!! Too busy to wonder if he had spontaneously combusted on my parents.

We did call once; after being away for almost 5 hours, right before the wedding I could no longer contain myself. Like when I'm jogging and I set my eye on something in the distance and say "I only have to jog to that mailbox, then I can walk", I told myself, "If you can make it until right before the wedding, you can call." And I did. He was fine. Fussing for a snack, but in one piece and my father assured me that all was well.

And so I proceeded to enjoy the wedding and the open bar. And the dance floor. For about three hours. And then, Husband decided to absent-mindedly check his cell phone which he'd put on the table and set to "vibrate". Six missed calls. All from my parents' number. Six messages. Each with an intensifying sense of "you must come home now; the child's head is spinning and he's spitting up pea soup" urgency.

He lasted until bedtime, apparently. Then he realized Mommy & Daddy were not there. And then he went all screamy and weepy and stiff and sweaty and shaky. For. Two. Hours.

Husband and I bolted from the wedding (it was okay; I'd already danced to Prince and Abba--what more could I ask for?) and proceeded to go back to the hotel, check out (that was the single most expensive shower I've ever taken) and then drive 70 miles back to our hyperventilating scream-pot and his frazzled babysitters.

When we arrived, he was passed out on my mother, his wet hair stuck to his sweaty little head, complete with meltdown-induced heat rash all over his face and neck. Super. My parents looked like they hadn't dared to breathe since he konked out because Dear God, Don't Wake The Beast!!!

But wake he did, when he heard our voices and he let us know that he was not pleased with us. I don't remember tons of details of this part because, oh yeah, I was drunk. All in all, a banner evening.

He slept well with us that night, I think, so relieved that we were back that he melted back into slumber shortly after we arrived and did some serious grovelling/cuddling, whatever you want to call it. I feared that the next morning he would see my parents differently and be afraid of them. He was definitely out of sorts and clingy and remained heat-rashy for days, but his crankiness was directed at Husband and me, not at his grandparents, which was a huge relief for me.

So I guess perhaps Ethan will be a bit older before we try to leave him overnight with anyone else. Say, high school?