I've always loved the beach--lounging in a beach chair, toes in the sand, peacefully listening to the sound of the waves crashing to the shore, with nothing to worry about except my tan lines (or burn lines as it happens to be in my case). Then, I went to the beach with my kid. Talk about a game changer...
Instead of applying Hawaiian Tropic, we're slathering on Water Babies like our skin has never seen the sun. And instead of toting one lone beach towel, a cold drink and a trashy beach read down to the beach, we're loaded like pack mules with snack bags, coolers, bags of beach toys, and five different kinds of sunscreen (just in case). The only ones snoozing in the sun are the toddlers, and that's only when they literally drop in their tracks from exhaustion. We build and smash sandcastles, hunt for seashells, chase crabs, and eat, eat, eat for an entire fifteen minutes before the first "can we go back up to the pool now?" But that's okay, given that we have taken to using the pool as a substitute for the outdoor shower as a means of eliminating the inevitable sand that accumulates in the crevices of our swimsuits (because of course they only fall down/stub their toe/lose their toy and want you to pick them up and hold them after they've rolled around in the sand for awhile).
The highlight of the week so far (depending on which family members you ask) was the night we went hunting for crabs on the beach at dusk. We had six adults, two toddlers, two flashlights, one net, and one bucket. We found pint-sized crabs aplenty and soon grew tired of the ease of the hunt. But then out of the dunes we spotted him: a behemoth craggly fellow with pinchers the size of my thumbs (okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but he was significantly larger than his brethren). We chased him across the sand and into the water, snagging him in the net only to have him climb right back out again. My son was fascinated by the crabs and showed no fear. He marched right up to the net to take a closer look at the beach monster, took a few steps closer in, and in a split second the captive jumped from the net, scurried across the sand and up my son's leg. To his credit, my son stood there calmly, without so much as a flinch, and looked down in wonder at his new multi-limbed friend. But the adults in the crowd screamed and jumped away from our catch, and a well-intentioned uncle ended up pushing my son down into the sand while attempting to save him from the ferocious pinchers. I'm sure that based upon the sounds emanating from our group, bystanders would have easily mistaken us for a group of middle school girls. Until the crying started, that is.
Beaches with babies is more challenging in some ways, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Hearing that little shriek and giggle when we finally catch the crab and put him in the bucket is well worth the extra sand that ends up in my swimsuit. We'll just have to be sure and remember to tip the pool guy at the end of the week while we pretend not to notice the dunes that have accumulated at the bottom of the pool.
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