Our first overnight trip was a success, although we decided to make it only one night instead of two. Bean napped on the way to Monterey, so that when we arrived we could play. We drove to Pacific Grove and ate lunch at Lover’s Point Park. There we encountered a huge clan of unusually tame, fat, aggressive squirrels accustomed to being fed (and who competed with nearly as tame seagulls). Bean climbed the jumbled rocks on the point and laughed at the squirrels. Then we checked into our motel back in Monterey.

Next we visited Dennis the Menace park, which was a blast. Her very favorite part was a long slide made of roller bars. I didn’t bring the camera with me, unfortunately. I went with her a few times, and she laughed her belly laugh. She then went by herself over and over again, giggling on each trip down, until she began to get impatient about waiting her turn (a sign she was tired). She also enjoyed running back and forth over a hanging wood bridge (the kind you see suspended over steep ravines in jungles). Dinner followed this, and then a short trip to the beach to jump in waves, followed by the bedtime routine. It had been an adventurous day.

Bean had difficulty falling asleep; it took 90 minutes, and she finally let go at 9:30. It was her first time ever in a big bed (the room was too small for the pack-and-play). I slept lightly next to her, waking several times. She woke at 5:15 a.m., and so did I. She was running on only eight hours of sleep, which was clearly not enough. She devoured pancakes and ham at Denny’s.

We decided that going home after the aquarium would be our wisest course of action. I was exhausted, as was she, and Husband was tired too. So we took her to the “zoo for fish” as we called it, and she was entranced. We had a grand visit, until she couldn’t take it anymore; around 1 p.m. she had her first spectacular public tantrum, complete with hitting me in the face, flailing arms, and running away. Since we’d seen all we wanted to see, we headed for the car. Husband carried her, a sack of wailing and tears, to the car, where she fell asleep as soon as we drove out of the parking garage. Two hours later she awoke cheerfully refreshed when we pulled into our garage at home.

It was a general success. We could have done another night, but we didn’t want to push it. I had (and still have) a sore throat, which I believe might be the cold she has recently had (or it could be particulate matter from forest fire smoke). Are we ready for a long haul trip by plane across the country? We think not just yet.

Bean is still coughing and sneezing some, but she is restless and cheerful, so we are heading out on our little trip. I hope we’ve packed well enough: clothes, books (for us all), snacks, stuffed animals. I wonder if she’ll sleep in the pack-and-play, which she hated to even be in to play? I wonder if she and I will end up sleeping together in the motel bed? I wonder if any of us will get any sleep? Should be interesting.

Today we’ll go to the Dennis the Menace park. Tomorrow the aquarium. Saturday morning we’ll do a little drive and head home. Here we go!

Husband is taking time off work. We were planning to go to Monterey for a couple nights — our first away from home with Bean — this week. Except Bean has a nasty cold with a cough, sneezes, and so forth.

Also, the water hose to our refrigerator broke and leaked everywhere last night. Though we rent the house, we own the fridge, so it’s our problem to fix.

And I successfully cast on my first sock, only to find I’d dropped a stitch in the first row. So this will require frogging and starting over.

None of these are huge crises, but they do set a tone for the vacation that we didn’t really want (but that’s not permanent). We may still decide to take our little trip, depending on how she seems tomorrow. She’s mostly cheerful and active, just with symptoms. We’ll have a repair guy come to fix the fridge. And casting on the sock again will be good practice for working with toothpick needles.

Having a child has heightened my awareness in several ways. The predominant pleasure of this awareness is the experience of discovery. We were in her wading pool on a very hot day, and honey bees flew around us to drink some water. Rather than get nervous and try to bat them away, we watched them. I did not know that bees carry their own little straw with them! I was fascinated to see one busily using its proboscis to suck up drops of water. Have you ever really seen — really watched — a honey bee from about five inches away? They are quite intricate.

Bean’s attention is not limited to the miniscule, though. She loves planes; they are huge and loud and scary and exciting. There is a Target store close to the airport that happens to sit in the path of landing planes. We arrange ourselves in the parking lot on the sidewalk under a little tree and watch them approach, getting lower and louder, until they roar overhead. I’d never noticed before that UPS and FedEx planes are enormous. I love how big they are. I can’t explain exactly why, except that you need to see one hanging right over your head a few hundred feet up to really appreciate their size.

Another form of awareness is a heightened sense of caution. I took Bean to the beach last Thursday. She’d only gone once before when she was 13 months old; it was October, and she wasn’t really interested. So I took her to Half Moon Bay, since that was the first beach that came to mind. Well, it’s not altogether inviting. The beach is very steep, and the water becomes quickly deep, so the wave action is intense. There was a sign:

I felt the tug of dread in my gut, but we went to the waves. I dismissed the feeling, but I kept an eye out; I could see the tide was coming in. Bean was thrilled to jump in the waves (we were at the very edge just getting our toes wet), but by the time we were done her arms looked like they were sunburned from the intensity of my grip. I could only tolerate the tension for about 15 minutes. I mocked myself for being a Nervous Nellie. I thought, It’s not like the sea is personified and is going to snatch my child away. But it felt that way to me. I wanted to call my parents and ask them how they’d had the courage to let us play at all the beaches we camped at when I was a kid. I’m amazed they didn’t lose one of us! After awhile she said she was done with the waves, so we went up the berm and made sand castles, but I still felt nervous, and Bean was getting cranky. So we went to the car to change into dry clothes and have lunch, after which we fed seagulls.

It was time for her nap and she was definitely tired, but since she’d catnapped on the way to the beach I wasn’t sure if she’d sleep. I decided to drive down Highway 1 to Santa Cruz, figuring it would be pretty for me and give her two hours to nap. However, she thwarted the plan. She wouldn’t fall asleep. By the time we got to Santa Cruz she said she wanted to get out and walk, so I stopped at another beach: Natural Bridges. This one was much flatter, with calmer wave action, and was populated by dozens of people. She chased seagulls, jumped in waves (with me holding her still, but with less suction that felt as though it might knock me down), and made more sand castles. A kind lady said hello and took our picture. After about 45 minutes of this, I had to lug her up the hill to the car and drive home. She fell asleep on the way for half an hour. Not enough nap, too much stimulation — she was a cranky tired kid by bedtime. But we had fun. On the way I noted many other state beaches that were flat, so we’ll be going to those next time.

I will say this: since having a child, I’ve made a concerted effort not to indulge my imagination regarding all the horrors that could befall Bean. That way lies madness. I also believe that manufacturing things to worry about distracts us from being aware of real threats and risks, because by worrying we feel we are doing something constructive and are bound up in all those thoughts, becoming too distracted to pay attention to what is real. I’m reading Protecting the Gift by Gavin de Becker (his Gift of Fear is worthwhile too), in which he recommends honoring the intuition signals the body gives us when we sense danger. When I saw another sign at Half Moon Bay (below) after we’d gone up for lunch, I realized that my discomfort was entirely justified, and rather than discount myself, I’m going to heed it; we’ll not be going back to that beach. (I also found an article about a tragedy on June 30 eight miles north of Half Moon Bay. Eeeegad!)

There is much more to tell about Bean, but this post is long enough, and her nap will be ending soon.