7 days before departure, I am diagnosed with walking pneumonia. After the antibiotics are started, I spend the next 4 out of 5 nights violently vomiting. Not just a little bit, losing count each night on the number of times. On the 3rd night, the diarrhea starts. Not just a little bit. Not having eaten in days, I wonder where this is all coming from and worry that I will end up dehydrated and in the hospital as water will not even stay down. The doc says to end the antibiotics. With 1 day to spare, I begin to feel well enough (this is not saying much) to pack for 3 people, including the newest and littlest, 4 month old member of the family who requires the most things and the most important things. It takes all day to accomplish this task with many rests and wishes that this trip was not non-refundable. The night before we leave, Mike gets zero sleep and throws up. Twice. He quickly pulls out his A-game and held it together. Luckily we have a late afternoon flight as we wake up to the worst ice storm Minnesota has ever seen. Watching the news there is a thirty-something car pile up on 94. Ugg... I want to stay wrapped up in the fetal position in the safety and comfort of my own bed.
Thankful that Lucky flies like a champ and his new little brother follows suit. However, he must sit on his dad's lap for the majority of the flights, as I am still fighting holding it all down. It's a good thing for everyone around me, that it all stays put with the help of an ice pack. Landing in Puerto Rico around midnight, renting a car and arriving at the hotel around 3am, after getting lost all while still desperately trying to hold it in with a hungry, tired, crying baby in the back seat. Mike is the most patient man I know. Waking up overlooking the ocean should have been enough to lift spirits. We open the curtains to a windy, rainy and gloomy day. Ugg... fetal position.
Mike never once makes me feel like the set back and disappointment that I felt myself to be. He insists that we hang back in the room awhile and take it easy.
He really is the kindest husband/father/friend a girl could ask for.
Still lacking enthusiasm, but getting some strength and energy back...
...whether my stomach is ready or not,
I insist that it is MOFONGO time!
(This is when Axel quickly realizes that I forgot to pack along a bottle for him. Ugg, can it get any worse? Mike saves the day by running as fast as he can to a Walgreens a couple blocks away.)
Mike orders a giant pork chop. Bigger than his head...
Old San Juan is paved with blue cobble stone...
...pigeons and swarms of fanny pack wearing, cruiseshiping tourists...
It's a Spanish speaking island with a very distinct creole look and feel.
Though it is a huge melting pot, many French families have flocked here from both Louisiana and Haiti.
We can't help but to think about Brad and all the good times we shared frolicking down the east coast in the beginning of this 'wild ride'.
~Misty water-colored memories. Of the way we were. Scattered pictures, Of the smiles we left behind. Smiles we gave to one another. For the way we were...
Finally, a little fun in the sun...
Lucky & I leave Mike & Axel behind and hit the chilly-willy waters of the Hilton pools...
We swim up for a frozen fruity cocktail...
...and CHEERS ourselves for making it this far and that him and his brother haven't been contaminated. We then warm up in the hot tub. Lucky loves the crap outa a good hot tub...
...for tomorrow we move from the quiet Condado Beach, to sunnier skies and healthier bodies on Isla Verde...
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