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So. It’s been a while. I was on vacation. In a dingy little place called the Writer’s Block. And, most recently, Florida, with my gal pal Senorita Kimberlita. At first, I wasn’t going to blog about my travels. I mean, what does going to Florida have to do with motherhood? As it turns out, quite a bit.

First of all, there were storks everywhere. If I wasn’t doubling up on the BCPs these days, I’d be peeing on a stick right now. Or beating Andrew with a bigger stick. Fertile bastard.

Second of all, I missed my boy. I wasn’t sobbing or anything, hells no. But I did have some thoughts as I was leaving the house at 4:30am to catch my flight, peeking in at my little copper-haired prince in sweet slumber, gently stroking the curls that adorn his perfect forehead, squeezing one last splurge of love from his meaty little arm before I headed for the door. He crossed my mind again when I was 30,000 feet in the air, looking down at the sea of clouds. You know the feeling. That little surge of dread… What if I never see him again? Hey, it happens.

But the feeling was short-lived, thanks to Max’s daddy – the Mac Daddy of daddies – and his network of helping hands: Auntie Linda (Max’s babysitter) and her sidekick Uncle Rex, Nanny 1, Nanny 2, Great Aunt Peggy, and the one and only Poppy Murphy. Anyone else nurture/entertain/protect my boy while I was away? If so, add your name to aforementioned list and accept my deepest gratitude. Knowing Max was in such awesome hands enabled me to immerse myself in sun, sand, seafood and shopping for seven days. It was perfectly relaxing, because I was in good company, and because Max was too.

Seriously, my vacation was virtually worry-free.

Well, except for the part where I got apprehended at Customs for having an apple in my knapsack. A Canadian apple?! Off with her head! They led me away to a special room for the dregs of society and interrogated me. What else are you hiding in your luggage, ma’am? I almost wished I had packed a bucket of salt meat and a ten-pound bag of potatoes. Whipping that out and seeing the looks on their mean faces… the jail time would have been worth it. The funniest part was looking toward the door and seeing Kim being escorted in behind me; she had a bejesus apple in her bag too.

And the part where the GPS led us through the darkest and shadiest areas of St. Pete. Kim kept re-locking the doors. I felt like we were on an episode of Cops. The Stupid Newfie Special. Figures – Kim had the GPS on the Rape-Me setting.

And the part where I got hit in the thumb by a bee. Or did my thumb hit a bee in the bum? I was dancing through the parking lot by the condo when WHAM something got me right in the hitchhiker. Mother Nature’s way of telling me to not quit my day job, I suppose; I am no swan. It hurt like a mother fu… blogger.

I’m guessing the bee got the worst of it.

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