Similarities of Vacations and Childbirth

Ever notice that going on a vacation is alot like having a new baby?
You go through pretty much the same steps, and in the same order.

First, you find out that you get to go on a vacation (I'm pregnant!).
Sometimes getting a vacation can be a surprise to you, especially if
you thought you'd used up all your vacation and sick days (But I took
my pills religiously...). So then you decide where you'll go (Emanuel
Hospital or Providence Hospital?); and you proceed to tell everyone,
with your closest friends and family being first let in on the plans
(Guess what, Mom?). Then when you feel the time is right, you tell your
boss and co-workers about your upcoming trip (I'll be needing 6 to 8
weeks off, Boss!)

You get so excited that you sometimes lay awake at night and think
about the coming event (Was that a kick?), and it's the first thought
you have in the morning (I'm going to throw up.). Now when you go out
in public, people ask you about your plans, making polite conversation
and small talk (Are you going to use cloth or disposables?)

As the day nears, you can't hold back your excitement and start talking
about your destination, and everyone else is either happy for you or
envious of you (Women: She's getting 6 weeks off! Men: Hey, let's start
a pool on the baby's sex and birthdate!) Usually some thoughtful person
at work will buy you a gift (maternity tee shirt that says "Under
Construction" across the tummy), or a gag or joke gift (earplugs and
Nytol for the father).

Shopping excursions for your vacation can be quite costly, and you may
often wonder whether you have enough, or too much (What do you mean
there's no such thing as enough diapers?). Then there's vacationers'
envy; you look at your neighbor's motorhome and it makes you want one
too (The Wilsons have a rocking crib AND a baby monitor!), but you know
you'll do alright with the basics (MY baby will NOT use a pacifier!).
Everyone will give you their tried-and-true advice about your trip (Oh,
you've got to nurse your baby or it's feet will turn black!)

Next you start wearing the clothes you bought for the trip (maternity
clothes) and some people think you look ridiculous while others think
you look great (maternity pants make everyone look as though they have
an elephant's rear end).

As the big day nears, it's all you can think about and all you talk
about. Some people at work just wish you'd go already because they're
tired of hearing about it. Your poor husband wishes you'd go too.
Excitement grows (along with your belly) and everyone offers their help
(Let me carry in those groceries!).

There's packing to be done (should I bring my hairdryer?) and you must
make space for your new purchases (I told you to get that motorcycle
out of the the nursery!).

Finally the day is drawing close, and you cannot contain your
excitement (I lost my mucous plug!) and growing impatience (Get this
baby out of me NOW!). Most of your time now is spent wishing your last
day of work was today, and waiting impatiently for the time to go (Was
that a contraction?). Last minute errands are run (Honey, let's go
bowling! Maybe it'll put me in labor!) and you confirm reservations
(register at the hospital), and now all you have to do is wait until
time to leave.

The time to go is finally here and there is no question about it!
Suddenly nobody's thinking clearly, the scent of nervous excitement is
thick in the air, and you hope you haven't forgotten anything. Your
husband or someone else drives (GO FASTER) but he won't stop for
directions (Go to the emergency door, not the main entrance!) Once you
get inside, everyone there is very calm, being used to this kind of
activity and excitement, and it irritates you (What do you mean, don't
push yet?? Where is the doctor?) You've waited so long for this, and
now the moment has finally come; it seems surreal to you (I can't
believe I did this on purpose!) and may even make you a bit cranky
(Honey, get your neck over here, I need something to SQUEEZE!), and you
may blame someone else for anything that doesn't go your way (YOU did
this to me! I was just trying to sleep! Come a little closer so I can
reach your neck!). Finally all the commotion subsides and everyone is
calmer and quieter. (Aaaaww, it's a girl!)

Now, you know this vacation is the only rest you're going to get, so
you take advantage of the hotel staff's help, and you relax (the nurse
takes the baby away while you sleep, and your husband goes to the bar).
You feel happy and full of joy, but your body isn't used to this kind
of activity and even after a few days, it hurts (Your milk comes in and
your breasts are hard as rock), but it still doesn't deter you from
enjoying this long awaited event.

Almost time to go home. Now you must pack and you have far more things
to pack than you did when you left home (Diaper bags, car seat, gifts,
flowers and balloons), but your husband manages to get it all in the
car somehow. The trip home doesn't seem nearly as long as the drive
there did, and all too soon you're back to reality.

You pull up in the driveway and see the mailbox is stuffed full (the
hospital bill beats you home). You walk in the door and immediately the
phone rings, and it's your mother in California wanting all the details
(Does the baby have hair? How long were you in labor?). Your husband
isn't even finished unloading the car yet when someone stops by (Hey,
they're home! Let's go see the baby!) and they want to hear all about
it and see the photos, too. You already have a special photo album
(baby book) for this vacation and you write captions under each
picture, weeding out all the ones you look awful in. You really need to
go lay down, but the company keeps coming and you politely stay up,
showing them your souveniers (they pass the baby around for each to
hold) and telling the story over and over again, to each person that
comes or calls. Everyone seems glad you're home, and everyone wishes
they could go on vacation too, even if it's just a fleeting
thought.

The next day is nothing but hard work; you have ten times the normal
amount of laundry to do, but your body isn't quite ready for that yet
and you're tired (exhausted). You look in the mirror and realize that
your new clothes don't fit as well anymore, but you can't go back to
your old clothes until you can adjust your weight (get rid of that baby
fat). Everyone notices how good you look, and you know you do (Look
what happened to my breasts!) It's hard to get back into the swing of
things right away and you begin to feel a little depressed; a sort of
let-down feeling after all the excitement.

The neighbor comes over to visit and while she helps you fold the
mountain of laundry on the couch, she gives you advice about preserving
your souveniers (It's okay to let the baby cry sometimes, Dear). You
tell her that vacationing once was enough for you, though it was nice
to experience (It hurt REAL bad! We're adopting from now on). But as
time and many cloth-folding afternoons go by, the memory of your
vacation gets softer and softer, and in just a few months you start
thinking about the next trip (I hope I have a boy next time). A little
more time goes by and you return to work to find that someone else is
going on a vacation soon, too. You can't help it; you go ask them where
they're going, when they'll go, and then you talk about your vacation
experiences (I was in labor 154 hours before my water finally broke).
You even compare travel agencies (Dr. Morton is good, but Dr. Smith
does home deliveries). From that day on, you have something in common
with every other person who's ever had a vacation, and you feel
comfortable talking about it to complete strangers anywhere you might
go, for the rest of your life.

After a year you start reminiscing about your vacation, and even
longing for another one. Yes, the one last year was alot of work, but
you're up to it again, and you start investigating the possibility
(Dr., should I wait until this one's potty trained before I have
another?)

And the entire cycle starts all over again, except that this time you
KNOW how much work it will be (Our next baby will be born in winter),
what you will need (This time I want Pain killers!), how you'll get
there and where you want to go (I'm having a midwife come to my home).
You're better prepared (Good thing I kept the baby clothes!) and know
what to expect (Bowling does not put you in labor).

When you've confirmed your plans and give out the good news, some
people will wonder why you want to go there again (Another baby? She
should get a television!) and yet others will be just as happy for you
as they were the first time (I'll get a pay-raise for doing her job
while she's gone!)

A few years down the road and you've got a stock-pile of photo albums
and a new camera to boot! People stop being so interested and excited
for you (How many kids do they have now?) and you start having garage
sales to rid yourself of all the souveniers.

One day, you actually plan to stop having vacations.