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Homemade Meals and a Babymoon: Preparing to Retreat

Photo by onenjen for Flickr (CC Licensed)

27w3d - If the East Coast snow-pounding actually lets up anytime soon, I should be sitting in a swath of Arizona sun by early next week. This is a trip planned out of desperation: I cannot fathom spending any more time indoors here in the woods, avoiding black ice and 6-foot drifts. I am craving sunshine like a weed, moving my laptop throughout the day to bask in the limited bright patches that stream into my dining-room-turned-office. 

Is the fact that I've outgrown the only two pairs of heavy winter maternity pants I own enough of a reason to scoot out to Scottsdale? I guess not. But knowing I can stay toasty for the next month wearing just the remaining pair of yoga capris that still fit was, indeed, enticing as I hovered my cursor over the CONFIRM TICKETS button. I may actually get to give the sole wool maternity sweater I own a day off in February!

Most of all, I'm leaving because I miss my family terribly, half of whom have moved out to the desert in the past few years, away from The Mister and I. They have tempted me westward with promises of treats like breakfast made to order and unlimited backyard-fresh citrus fruits and cable tee-vee(!!!). Call me a softie (and you should), but I get mush-hearted every time I think about the absolute luxury of spending some of my last childless days with the people I loved most throughout my child- and adulthood. Do I want to spend some of the final weeks of my pregnancy learning, once and for all, how to make potstickers from my mother? Yes, please. Hitting the (flat) trails with my dad and the dogs every morning? My now-dusty hiking boots are already packed. Making inappropriately immature jokes over drinks and copious snacks with my brother and his fiancee? Yup, yup. And because I work and go to school online, I'm not too nervous about falling behind on Real Life while I'm there.

Seeing the sort of puddle I became at Thanksgiving when my family visited, The Mister strongly encouraged this Southwest journey. (Though when I actually booked the trip this fall, I was still eating only beige foods and gagging, cat-like, basically nonstop, so I wonder how much of his enthusiasm for this visit was based back then on my potential absence.) Nevertheless, he has supported these three weeks away since our first discussion, planning not-so-pregnancy-safe projects like gutting and refurbishing our bathroom while I'm gone so that we don't need to be toilet- and shower-less during our first few months with the babe. To my surprise, he even suggested he join me out there for a couple days so we could take a sunny babymoon.

Now, I will admit that I am the sort of sucker for whom throwing a creative label on an ordinary concept totally works. I dig a marketing gimmick for sure: Small plates cafes, Cyber Monday sales, Restaurant Week menus, Boss's Day … it's all malarkey in hiding, really, and yet I obligingly make the reservations/ drain my PayPal account. So even though I know that booking two nights in a spa hotel in Sedona doesn't automatically mean The Mister and I will reignite our pre-baby passion the way some package descriptions promise, I'm psyched for this babymoon nonetheless.

Three days without shoveling, responding to clients, reheating soup, futzing with the dog. Three days with my favorite dude, driving through red rocks, giggling over alien tours, hiking to vortexes, wearing short sleeves, holding (gloveless) hands. Maybe a couples' massage or an aura reading--when in an overpriced resort town, one does what the tourists do, right? I sure do.

The midwives have given me the go-ahead to fly out, assuming I ace tomorrow's glucose test and don't require a follow-up before my March visit. My comfiest socks, hefty stash of snacks, and trashy plane reads are packed. Water bottle, tissues, antibacterial hand gel, check, check, check. Any final advice for staying comfy while travelling super-pregnant?