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So far developer has created 8 blog entries.

Pregnancy Amnesia

So It turns out I forget everything.

Im on the floor of our vacation rental, vomiting and feeling like death, I’m 7 weeks, I’m in hell.
“This is the worst its ever been,” I quietly say to Sean, one eye open, Kids crawling on top of me like a makeshift jungle gym.
“You say that every time,” my oldest replies….
“Oh.” I do?

Turns out I’m sick and miserable each time, yet I have no recollection of this, All I remember is the kicks and seeing them on the ultrasounds…weird right?

Their all off on a jet skiing adventure, I’m wondering how I’m going to get through the next few hours….
Wish me luck.

Face it, if you have a lot of kids, shits gonna go wrong.

It’s the law of averages, the more kids you have, the greater the chance for disaster, or , as is often the case, multiple disasters.
I’m writing this, as I try and rebook my flight home with my youngest, who somehow managed to reopen her recently stitched up leg:/
My oldest was puking all night, the power went out making the condo unbearably hot, my morning sickness is just out of control, and Caden has a fever.

It’s making me look back on other fond memories, broken arms while skiing, the stomach flu that took down my whole family mid flight, the horrible ambulance ride through the remote parts of Mexico, the emergency dentist in Kauai, terrorist shooting in Paris.

Why do we do this again?

I know it’ll quickly join the others, memories that become hilarious over time, but damnit can’t we have one disaster free trip?

I often get comments on how easy we make it look….I know, I do make it look easy, it’s a gift I have….but the truth is traveling with kids is hard. Really, really hard.

Dear Drunk Texan

Ok people, when booking your trip, take a minute to find the resort that works for you.
Hate kids? Go to Sandals.
Love to drink all day? There’s an all inclusive in Cancun just for you.

I’m at this lovely, quiet, small family resort in the middle of the Atlantic, and I swear I’m being terrorized by a middle aged lush we have begun referring to as “the drunk Texan.”
Hollering and “wooing,” is annoying at any age, but acting like a frat boy in your 50’s at midnight as you stumble around the pool? Not ok dude. Not ok.

I’m thinking of getting your mother on the phone.