When we were at the Sian Ka’an Biosphere (pictures forthcoming…I ran out of time last night) Joey found a coconut laying on the ground. Of course I made him stuff it in his backpack and we smuggled it out so I could see what would happen when I broke it open.
The first try…
And the second try…
Joey had to run to the store tonight to pick up some beef for a cookout he’s going to tomorrow; he’s bringing burgers. He also had to pick up some cupcake liners for me, because I was in the midst of making Dulce de Leche cupcakes and, well…I miscounted. While I waited for his imminent return, I cleaned the bathroom and dusted. (Because that’s what every girl does when she’s in the middle of a cooking project but has to wait for her cupcake liners, duh.)
He arrived home when I was dusting the living room. I had just taken all my Nativity figures off my end table (I keep the basic figures out all year as a reminder) when I heard the key in the lock. I was holding Joseph (as in Mary and Joseph, not Jenna and Joseph) when Joey yelled, “CLOSE OUR EYES.”
I closed my eyes and slapped my hands over them, just to be safe. My eyes have a tendency of popping open when I get really excited.
“WHY!!” I squealed, carefully setting Joseph down on the couch.
“Because I have a SURPRISE for you.” I could hear Joey coming closer…closer…closer…
Finally he stopped right in front of me. “OK, now you can open your eyes,” he said.
I was greeted by the sight of 25 pink roses, right in my face. “WOAH, they’re beautiful!” I gushed. “But…why?”
Joey set them down on the couch and put his hands on my shoulders. “Because I wanted you to know that I love you. And even though we’re starting this baby thing all over again, and it’s not even exciting this time because who knows how it will turn out or if it will even work, we will always have each other.”
He’s right. It’s NOT exciting like it was last time.
In fact, as I was dusting and waiting for him to come home I was thinking about what happened to me yesterday. I was looking over some papers, and one several of them was the date May 14, 2009. I wasn’t expecting this at all, but when I saw the date I experienced a physical reaction. I gasped (loudly) and slammed the paper down, as if that would make it go away.
I was thinking how much I wish I could change the date that we found out we were miscarrying. I mean, I do not want to hate my wedding anniversary for the rest of my life…but I currently don’t even like to look at the date. (Much less type it.)
I related this to Joey as I stood there holding the roses. “I wish I could brainwash myself to thinking that the miscarriage date was March 17 when I had surgery.”
“No matter what date you assign to it, May 14 will always be the day we found out,” Joey said, sagely.
“I still don’t like it,” I said.
“Well, the best things are both happy and sad,” Joey replied…trying to sound a whole lot wiser than he really was/is.
“Like what,” I asked skeptically.
“Dogs,” he blurted out.
“Dogs?” I asked.
“Yes. Dogs die. That’s sad.”
Helpful, Joey. Very helpful. Then I think he realized that was a dumb thing to say just then, because he yelled, “HENRY!!!” and Henry came jingling into the living room.
“Thanks for the roses,” I said. He gave me a nice, comforting, we’ve-been-married-for-4-years-and-even-when-it-sucks-we-still-have-each-other kind of hug and I went into the kitchen to finish my cupcakes and put my lovely roses into water.
This video is not as long as I wished, nor as close to the iguana…but as I stepped on to the grass to get closer to him, I started feeling burning pains in my toes. Turns out I was standing on a bunch of fire ants, and it started hurting really bad. (You can see the camera go all jerky when they really start biting.)
Monday morning we woke up (after another 11 hours of sleep) and again loaded up my crossbody bag with water, electrolyte tablets, sunblock, camera and a bunch of other stuff.
We were ready to rock, roll and take the ruins of Tulum by storm.
So we jumped in yet another taxi and I asked him to take us to the Tulum ruins. Apparently I did a good job, too, because the taxi driver said, “oh, you speak Spanish” and then started yammering off about something. Then I had to say, “pequito”, and that was the end of that conversation.
He dropped us off about ten minutes and a bumpy ride later.
“I wasn’t really expecting to be dropped off at an empty road,” I said to Joey. “What do you think we’re supposed to do?”
“Let’s start walking and see where it takes us.”
So off we went.
We walked for a very long time. We saw lots of iguanas too, so that made it kind of worth it, but by the time we arrived at the ticket window, we had both sweated off all our sunblock. I am rather paranoid about sunburns (please see here) and was not going to get burned this trip, no way no how.
“I’m not going to make it,” I panted as we walked up another flight of stairs and along yet another path. Wherever they were hiding the ruins, I was really hoping we could find them soon. It was, by this time, about 10:30 and probably 5,000 degrees outside.
“Let’s take that ramp instead of the stairs,” Joey suggested.
I was down with that.
The Tulum ruins site was carved right out of the jungle, much like a lot of things we saw. On either side of the path was a dense forest of palm trees, vines, and probably poisonous snakes.
That is why we stayed out of it.
I was, like, really suffering by the time we FINALLY reached the entrance of the ruins.
Joey, on the other hand, was faring much better.
Once we got inside, I was rather dismayed to find NOT A SPECK OF SHADE to be found. I don’t know where they put all the trees, but there weren’t many and there wasn’t any shade.
The ruins, though, were amazing.
I couldn’t believe the detail and intricacy of the stonework. They’re not the oldest ruins I’ve seen, but they were the most impressive simply based on the fact that they were Mayan ruins…and not Roman ruins. You assume Roman ruins will kick your butt with their Awesome because they had, what, 1,000 years to get good making fancy stone buildings?
The Mayans were just awesome in a can when it came to building stuff.
We were cheap and didn’t pay for a tour guide, so we just wandered around reapplying sunblock, drinking our electrolyte water and saying, “Woah, what is that” a lot.
Then I’d make up a scenario about how that flat part over there is where they performed human sacrifices and that spot over there is where they kept the people they were going to sacrifice, and Joey played along like he believed me.
Who knows, maybe he did.
Nah, we’ve been married for too long. He’s on to me.
When we reached the beach (the Tulum ruins are special because they’re right on the beach) we found a sea turtle spawning area. It’s that sandy spot on the right that looks like a beach, but DO NOT BE DECEIVED. It is for sea turtles and it is where they do their thing, so don’t touch it.
I didn’t.
While Joey was photographing this red flower, a butterfly flew into the shot and he accidentally captured it. I love this picture.
And here I am, disregarding the “do not go behind here” line. It’s tradition. The Kid and I always do it whenever possible, so I thought I might as well.
If I was a Mayan and I lived in Tulum, I think this spot right here is where I’d hang out a lot. Isn’t that water blue and beautiful? There are large rocks down below, so the sea crashes with great violence against them, and it sounds deliciously relaxing.
We decided to rest under a palm tree that had a tiny bit of shade. There was a plaque with a map under it, so I thought I’d read it. So I stood there and tried to translate sign. I was kind of stuck on the word caleta but I had the rest figured out. I was getting frustrated about it when, suddenly, Joey says “Imagine the entrance to the cove illuminated by fire in order to orient the nocturnal navigators.”
Joey is lucky to remember donde esta el bano from Spanish class, so I just looked at him and said, in shock, “What the heck?! How did you know what caleta means?”
He looked at me and then just started laughing. “You didn’t see the English translation on the sign?”
No, I didn’t see the English translation.
We had a good laugh over this and Joey took a picture just because he’s weird like that.
Then, after we had hogged the speck of shade for as long as we thought was polite, we reapplied our sunblock and went back out into the elements.
Like I said, the Mayans could kick some butt with building stuff. But I couldn’t tell you what they built.
If we had been thinking, we’d have brought our bathing suits and dove into the sea at the beach. But we weren’t thinking, so we didn’t.
Either the Maya were short, or they built their doorways low. Check out how I am so much taller than the door, y’all.
Look, he’s even got his Mountain Dew hat on in Mexico…
I can’t get over how blue that water is. And all that in the background is ruins.
This was a really intricate building and wall structure. It was about this time that, while we were probably about to die from electolyte depletion, we wished we had a tour guide. Or at least a tour book.
We walked over to the far wall near the exit and Joey climbed up to get a better picture of the temple on the hill. To the left in this picture is a bunch of palaces and suchlike, this I remember from snitching off other people’s tour guides.
Joey owned the wall and climbed it with dexterity and purpose. I was proud to be his wife.
We made the long trek back to the taxi waiting area and asked for our driver to take us to the Subway we had seen in town. We were starved and needed a good, cheap, filling meal.
It totally hit the spot.
And you know what? Surprisingly, neither one of us got burned that day. We used almost half of the bottle of sunblock, too, so I’m glad to know that stuff works.
After a very long day of travel, we arrived at Zamas on Saturday evening. We unpacked, went to dinner, and crashed in our mosquito-netted bed, and slept for 11 hours straight.
In the morning, we awoke feeling refreshed, relaxed, and ready to GET OUR GAME ON.
First we ran out onto our balcony to smell the sea breeze as it rolled in off the ocean.
It was beautiful.
I could totally get used to that.
After we oohed and ahhed until we were kind of sick of it, we loaded up my bag with water, the camera, my bathing suit cover up, sunblock and (unfortunately) not any bug spray. Our goal of the day was to go into town, get some lunch and some money and then head out to a cenote we had heard about.
But on the way out the door…
I SAW MY FIRST IGUANA!
We took probably 15 pictures of this guy. No joke. But finally Joey tore me away and we hopped in a taxi and drove off to town.
Objective One was easily fulfilled. We stopped at the HSBC in town and withdrew a fair amount of pesos. Then we were hungry, so we started looking for a restaurant.
Except that it was Sunday and in a small town in Mexico, even one that sort of caters to tourists, HOW MANY RESTAURANTS ARE ACTUALLY OPEN ON SUNDAY?!
Like maybe two. And one of them said they were closed when I tried to order, even though there were people eating there and they were cooking more food. But whatever.
We walked a little further down the street until we found a pollo asado place. I ordered us two plates and soon we were munching happily on a chicken. That the man had hacked into two pieces with a meat cleaver not moments before.
Joey was like, “This is pretty good.”
I was like, “BUT THE MANY JUST HACKED THIS CHICKEN IN TWO WITH A MEAT CLEAVER!”
But I am so much tougher than that. And I was hungry. So I ate my chicken.
Shortly thereafter, we hopped in another taxi and were on our way to Crystal Cenote, so named because you can see right to the bottom.
It has crystal clear, refreshingly cool water and is smack dab in the middle of the jungle. If you’re not in the water, the mosquitos are fighting over which one of them gets to give you West Nile Virus, so we were totally annoyed with ourselves for not bringing the bug spray.
For an hour we floated around the cenote. It’s kind of crazy to find little freshwater pools in the middle of the jungle so close to the ocean, but there are dozens of them all around Tulum, and elsewhere down there.
At this particular cenote, we were the only Americans. There were two European couples and a few Mexican families, but it was pretty empty. I was glad, because I am a total water chicken. I panicked for the first ten minutes until I realized none of the fish were going to eat me.
I got the willies whenever my feet touched the mossy rocks, but that was really only near the edge. The cenote was surprisingly deep.
After we spent our hour and had completely worn ourselves out with floating and relaxing, we decided it was as good a time as any to head back to Zamas.
So I thre on my bathing suit cover up and off we walked toward the road.
“We should have thought to bring towels,” Joey said.
“I know,” I replied, my cotton crossbody bag was getting damper by the minute.
Once we got out to the road, we realized we had un problemo. No taxi. And the cenote was kind of out in the middle of nowhere, so odds were not good we’d see one soon.
“Well, we have plenty of water and sunblock. Let’s just start walking and surely someone will come soon,” Joey suggested.
I was game. Not ten steps later, we heard a taxi drive up behind us, honking. We looked at each other and laughed, then hopped in hoping he wouldn’t mind having wet seats since we were still kind of dripping from our swim in the cenote. The driver didn’t say anything, so neither did we.
Within twenty minutes, we were back at our cabana laying in the hammocks on the balcony staring at this:
Ahhhhh…..perfect first day.
The Kid was at Grandma’s house with Mom and Dad last night. For whatever reason, the Kid started looking at old-timey pictures and sent me this one. Guess who it is.
DINGDINGDING!
You’re right, it’s me playing in a laundry basket with my Blankie. See it there behind me? (Also please note the couch in the left of the picture. I think that couch was thrown up on more often than it was actually sat on while all us kids were growing up.)
So Joey and I busted out a laundry basket and I squeezed into it. Unfortunately, since we live in an apartment, we don’t have any large roomy ones like the one from my childhood. It was a tight fit.
I don’t think I could have fit my Blankie in there with me if I had tried.
I love to celebrate birthdays. They are my favorite. I love making cakes, thinking of presents, planning surprises and all that good stuff.
I especially like it when it’s MY birthday.
As of today, I am now 30 days an 7 hours away from my birthday. (I know how many hours because Pops had the foresight to take a picture of the clock when I was born. It was 3:15 in the afternoon.)
The day my doctor told us I had miscarried changed me forever.
I’m pretty sure that any of you who have had a miscarriage know what I’m talking about. It’s not the kind of change that most people understand, or even can see, but it’s the kind of change where everything feels different:
Empty; like I’m in a huge, blindingly white sound-dampened room.
Sensitive; because everything hurts.
Louder; like everyone’s yelling because they think I can’t hear them, but I really can.
Fragile; like I never know what will make me lose it next.
Dead.
Three months later, I still feel those things…maybe even more acutely than the Monday I went home from the hospital, and, sitting in the wheelchair next to me was a mommy holding her day old baby. I sobbed the entire way home. (They should have a special ward for miscarriage patients…not make them be with labor and delivery.) Now things feel more real. More permanent.
But with time has come the ability to deal with it better, and I’m sure that will be the same for the months to come. I’m reading a couple of grief books Mom sent me (thanks Mom!) that I couldn’t handle reading earlier and, while they’re good, they’re kicking up the dust I had stuffed. For instance, every night this last week I have had The Baby Dream. I had it a bunch when I was pregnant and, reading those books apparently brought it back. I’m getting to where I don’t want to fall asleep at night, because I know I will wake up having just had that dream, and then I’ll have to remember that it wasn’t real.
I glanced at the calendar today and allowed myself to mentally calculate how many weeks along I should have been. I never should have done that, it completely ruined my day.
You know what else? I am scared spitless of getting pregnant again. I mean, let’s face it. My experience so far has been a whole big load of crap. Somewhere back in my subconscious I think I have convinced myself that what happened to me is “normal”…and I’m afraid it will happen again.
Having a miscarriage (or, quite frankly, dealing with infertility) seems to put all of us in this terrible club, one nobody wanted to ever, ever be in but one we’re all stuck with. It’s can be a secret kind of club, because nobody wants to talk about it. But it’s still there…that awful reality.
Me? I’m determined to always talk about it. It’s the only connection I have to Samuel, besides the ultrasound picture. (Blog readers, prepare yourself.) So many women are in the evil miscarriage/infertility club alone. If you’re alone, you don’t have to be anymore. We can do this together…just email me.
Whenever my stupid body finally decides to heal from surgery (yep, you read that right; three months and counting and we’re still not firing on all cylinders) I hope we’ll be able to have a healthy baby. But, until then…PLEASE do not ask me if I’m pregnant. Please don’t analyze everything I say (“Oh, she sneezed, is she pregnant?”) Please don’t watch me like a hawk to see if I’m acting funny.
Don’t worry, if I ever get pregnant again, I WILL TELL YOU…when I am absolutely, positively sure that we have a baby that’s alive this time. But please don’t ask me and put me in a position to either have to lie to you, or remind myself that NO, I AM STILL NOT PREGNANT.
But you can certainly understand how jumpy it makes me.
I’m not sure I can handle another year of the baby y0-yo. Just thinking about it makes me want to give up and poke my eye out…but I can’t. My biological clock has been ticking long enough that it feels like a time bomb.
For now, though, I am a card-carrying member of the crappy Club. I will always, even if we have 15 kids, be in that club, because membership is permanent, just like the scars on the hearts of its members.
We checked out of Zamas at 9:15 and caught a taxi into Tulum. The plan was to get tickets on the 10:00 bus to Cancun, and hopefully a second class one. Thus far, our experience with 2nd class busses has been fine. PLUS they are at least 50% cheaper than first class.
The bus station was crowded, but I walked up to the window and bought two tickets for the 10:00 bus. Ten dollars later, I was the proud owner of two seats on the 10:00, and I handed them to Joey.
“Sweet, second class,” he said.
The bus was 20 minutes late.
And, when it arrived, it was overbooked; jammed full of people and their luggage and at least twenty people wanted to board it in Tulum. I had pushed to the front of the line and was already on the bus when the driver hung out the side of the door and yelled, “There will be another bus in half an hour!”
Most of the people decided to wait, but we didn’t think there was any guarantee that next bus would be less crowded, so we pushed ourselves and our luggage into the aisles with about ten other people. It was standing room only.
We jostled our way through town, the substantial woman behind me kept oozing into my back with every bump. I had to laugh, though, as I sat on my suitcase in the aisle of a jammed second class bus, hurtling down the freeway–perhaps to my death–with fifty other sweaty people. I don’t really like playing pampered tourist, and this certainly wasn’t that.
About ten minutes later, I stood up. The suitcase wasn’t comfortable at all. A short time later, I felt someone a tapping on my backside. Hoping it wasn’t anyone creepy, I turned to find a cute little grandma in the seat to my left. She had told her two granddaughters, in the seat to my right, to squish into one of their two seats so I could sit in the other. They were about six and eight (so they totally fit in one seat) and they smiled shyly at me as I sat down next to them.
Joey took my spot on the suitcase, and he balanced himself deftly as the bus barrelled on down the freeway. I talked to the girls for awhile, but they were obviously scared of me. Then, I remembered something.
“Joey, can you get the iTouch down from the backpack?” I asked.
He reached into the overhead compartment and fished it out. The moment I brought the iTouch down into the seat, the girls were hooked. Joey showed us how to play a few simple games, and they watched, enraptured, as I played them. (And totally stunk at doing so.)
I tried to get them to play a few times, but each time I asked them, they shunk into their seat. They were NOT GOING TO TOUCH that thing. I remembered the game where you shoot the penguins out of the cannons to knock down the polar bears, so I brought it up on the screen.
The younger of the two girls hesitantly put her finger out to touch the screen and SCREAMED when the image on it moved. She thought she had broken it. I laughed and smiled and told her yes, she did the right thing and would she like to try again?
For the next half hour or so, the girls shared beautifully, took turns, laughed, and generally lost every time they played the penguin game. But they had a blast and ran down the battery on the iTouch completely.
In Playa del Carmen they got off the bus, yelling “¡Hasta luego!” to Joey and I as they bounced down the bus steps.
“That was fun,” I said to Joey as he put away the now dead iTouch.
The bus had fairly well emptied by now, so for the remaining hour of our trip we each took a seat; he with the suitcases and me with my big straw hat and we settled in to read for the rest of the drive.
Second class is totally the way to go.
