Monday, July 8, 2013

Vacation Postpartum

We have been back from a fantastic beach vacation for one whole day, and I am experiencing what can only be referred to as vacation postpartum. That's a thing, right? It has to be, because so many of us experience it.

We spent seven days on the beach, sunning in the sand, eating, sleeping, reading, playing and repeating over and over again. We did not worry about our jobs, or our house, the extra house we are trying to get rid of, or the thousand-and-fifty-one things we had to do when we got home. We truly relaxed (not to mention the fact that Brad's fabulous aunts cooked amazing meals for us each night (or that we had fresh seafood the other nights). We truly enjoyed playing with the boys, hanging out with family, awakening our brains with some good books, and turning the AC waaay up because we weren't paying the electric bill (trust me...we already paid it in the cost of renting that house). I even snuck in some shopping, and Brad golfed a few rounds. (Side note: We even got a glimpse of a Hallowed Ground episode in which brad makes an appearance! Yahtzee!!)

But then it happened. 

It stormed all night Thursday and into Friday, and those dark clouds, howling winds, and filthy puddles served as an ominous warning of what was to come...the dampening of our spirits. 

We began the trek home on Friday at 6 am, and with each mile marker we passed the more my chest tightened in anxiety over all the things(!) to be done when we got back home to real life. Bills to be paid, a one-year-old's birthday party to be planned, laundry to be washed, grass to be mowed, paperwork to be completed, calls to return (if I didn't have to return them on vacation), volleyball to be coached, evaluated and communicated about. Just so many things. 

And as we got closer and closer to home I could feel my breathing get faster and faster. My neck muscle got tense, sending my shoulder into an awkward high-pull position...the position it stays in virtually all year long as I navigate through  life stressing about ridiculous tidbits of responsibility that don't matter all that much.

And there isn't even a beach nearby where I can soak my feet in the ocean or tan (re: burn) my legs. Not to mention the fact that there isn't a five-star chef or two anywhere to make our meals. 

So, this is vacation postpartum. And, like the postpartum depression some experience after pregnancy, we are enjoying what our vacation left us with rather than lamenting the fact that it's over.