My husband always *gets* Thanksgiving. It’s an important holiday in his family and he loves to go home for the few days, see old friends and share an intimate turkey dinner with 45 of his closest cousins.
Because I’m not a sports fan and its hard to develop a close relationship with his extended family and high school buddies when I see them once a year, I’m not a huge fan of returning to the Midwest. This year, I planned ahead with my single girlfriends that was only slightly derailed with an unexpected pregnancy.
Tomorrow, I’ll be sitting in a business class seat to Europe while my husband packs to take our daughter to Cleveland. I’m so excited not just for my trip, where I have essentially nothing planned except exploring the city, but also for my husband.
I know my daughter is blessed to have such a great dad comfortable and excited to travel alone with her (of course once she arrives, I doubt her feet will even touch the ground). He’s also a big proponent of me traveling comfortably and enjoying myself on essentially my last hurrah. I suppose I should cut him more slack when he wants to watch football at home or grab a beer with the guys.
So despite all of the baggage and nonsense in my life, and there is plenty, I am going to indulge on my true honest to goodness real vacation and not think about naps (except mine), wet diapers (except when I have a leaky sneeze), catering to anyone (except my girlfriends), eating schedules (except my and my friend’s dietary restrictions), and well…you get the point.