The trip to St. John island started out great for the first three days. I wore the maternity bathing suits, exposing the belly all around the pool. It got tanned. Of course I used sunscreen. My daughter wore her floaties non-stop so I didn't have to do any sudden movements into the pool or ocean to save her. She bobbed around quite securely. That little head of hers going up and down with the waves. I could relax somewhat. I had been getting lower back cramps, which was disconcerting. My ob/gynie told me to swim. What great advice because I didn't get out of water for three days. Then the hurricane hit and we were holed up in the hotel room for an entire day with nothing more than raspberry ginger cereal (not tasty), milk, peanuts and potato chips. Out of the water, my back started to hurt a little. I frantically felt my round stomach for signs of the baby. Actually baby was most active at night. I had to wait. The wind was howling and the rain was pouring. Trees were bending sideways, big branches hurling off onto the ground. It was a category 4 storm and our part of the island got hit badly. The next day we saw beached boats and downed awnings. Tree branches, coconuts were strewn everywhere across the lawn. The Westin had a big cleaning job ahead. Oops, the pool deck we had just enjoyed the day before was split in two. All I could think of, as I walked my way to the provisional breakfast, was, "What am I, an almost 6-month pregnant 46 year-old, doing here?" If this were the Tudors, I'd had been ordered to bed rest long before. Yet, here I was putting my baby's life in danger! We couldn't get off the island as the Coast Guard prohibited all boat travel. But our plane was waiting for us on St. Thomas island. Then a man came by and offered a group of us a speedy crossing. I got on that boat. The waves seemed rough around me. I already envisioned myself platooned in the water with nothing but a life preserver helping me float through choppy, shark-infested water where no one would spot me. At least I would float well. That bulging belly coupled with salt water was the best flotation device. But I was about to capsize on an illegal vessel crossing. What kind of mother am I? Well, needless to say, we got to land and hopped in a truck to go to the airport where our waiting aircraft had now departed. No flights until Saturday, four days away. But wait, I'm pregnant and have a four-year old, can't you see? I need to get to the mainland before I have this baby in the airport with no neo-natal facility around. Can't you get me on the next plane? No. You're too late. The flights are fully booked. You're on your own.
Two more days would pass. I decided to go snorkeling and float for awhile. Oh, that did the trick for those back aches. Now, I am back safely in my apartment. This was supposed to be the babymoon, but what if I had been swept away from hurricane winds? Was that a smart move to go to the Caribbean during hurricane season while just about being six months pregnant and not being a spring chicken? Why didn't I just go to Mount Rushmore or the Wisconsin Dells? Besides, it took nine types of vehicles to get from Brooklyn to our room at the Westin in St. John. I could have just driven to Montauk to go swimming. Begging gate workers to get on planes is not my idea of a relaxing babymoon. But baby is right now kicking me blue. I survived. The babymoon is over. I am nesting until this baby pops out!
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