What we weren't looking forward to was the five hour flight. The last time we flew back from New York, he couldn't sit still, and we became "those poor people". Mortifying stuff. I list months off my life because of that flight.
But we found out that our boy's grown up since the last time we flew, and he behaved like a stud - calm, cool and collected - and even had time for a nap. I've never felt more prouder and relieved. And I might have earned those months back.
The resort is great. I took Wyatt for a walk around and he marveled at the koi and the macaw. But he was just in wonder of the place. He could have seen a pigeon and still have dropped his jaw. Everywhere he looked, something marvelous caught his eye. But it was time to stop sightseeing and time to get wet.
We went back to the room and took off his clothes and diaper. Of course, we didn't check to see if his diaper was full. It wasn't. In fact, it was completely empty. That's because his poop landed on my big toe. And on my flip flop. And on my ankle. And a touch on the carpet. He crapdusted me. Mahalo, I told him. He laughed and responded, "I funny!" Yeah, a regular Gallagher.
We then swam in the pool four hours while Hot Mama and I downed some heavenly piña coladas. You might be thinking: Were we getting drunk while our kid who couldn't swim on his own was in the pool with us? No. Not true. He was in a float suit. Everyone wins.
The day ended with us trying to keep Wyatt up as late as we could to get him on Hawaii time. He crashed superhumanly at 7pm. That's a thirteen hour day with flying, swimming, pooping on dad's toe, hanging with exotic pets and fish and giving us Dutch ovens while cuddling. Dude was a baller today.
Can't wait for tomorrow.
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Read Day Two
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