Eleanor would wake up around 8:30 because Puerto Vallarta is actually east of us and therefore earlier time-zone-wise, who knew, and we'd get dressed and go take forever to eat breakfast and then it would be time for her nap, and then I would read on the patio while Joel went boogie boarding or Joel would read on the patio while I did yoga on the beach or we would BOTH read on the patio while keeping a simultaneous eye out for the muchas iguanas who lived in our foliage.
And then Eleanor would wake up and we'd go to the pool or the beach and if it was the pool, she'd entertain the troops
and if it was the beach, she'd eat the sand. That child, you guys. No thanks on the watermelon, but sand is a salty treat.
And then we'd go have lunch and linger over our coffee until it was time for Eleanor's nap again and see, like, three paragraphs up. And then she'd wake up and if we'd already been to the beach, we'd go to the pool or vice versa, and then we'd go take forever over our dinner and then she'd go to bed and Joel and I would have drinks on the patio.
And there was no internet except in the lobby, so once a day we'd spin down there and let Eleanor free-range while we posted to our instagrams.
And our resort had a ZOO so on the way to and from meals we'd stop to say hi to the ostrich and the monkeys. And the palm trees. And the large boulder. Eleanor hasn't quite refined her 'hi' to things with faces. She scatters them wide and then, like, half the time they are socially appropriate.
It has long been a dream of Joel's to go Somewhere Hot In The Month Of November, Which Is The Month That Sucks For Many Reasons, Not The Least Of Which Is The Cold. Mexico was mad hot and tropical, and my poor skin, which has fared horribly in Calgary's dry outdoors and overheated indoors, felt plump and soft and not unlike the baby's. I am warm and flush and I cannot find my doldrums anywhere.
It was good, as vacations go.