As you read this I am in a faraway town named after the Spanish word for vulture. That would be right next to the town named after the Spanish word for mosquito. As you read this I am undoubtedly bathed in DEET and SPF 45. Given the time of day, I can only assume I am on my third mango y banano con leche. That's right motherfuckers! Cara de Petunia has gone Costa Rican!
Crazy eyes, sweaty head and unshaved pits. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!
In what must be the best decision made by two people since Eve took a nibble of the apple and Adam just sort of stared on all self-righteous and missing a rib, Bryan and I decided that since this month is a sort of homeless limbo, we should take a few weeks and go on vacation. So here we are! Vagabonds con passports, Bryan, Zoey and me.** Pura Vida! (Of course I am writing this on Friday, from the in-law's. For all I know our plane has crashed and it is Monday and we are not in Costa Rica but in a limbo of an eternal sort, dancing on the edge of Hell not yet knowing which was is up. How weird would that be? I mean, for you. It would be weird for you. I'd be dead.*)But don't worry--I won't be subjecting you to my bastardized Spanglishfrancofuckwhat while traveling. I have lined up a bevy of bodacious guest bloggers for the next two weeks. I am sure these ladies will keep you more than entertained. Plus, I will be turning off all blog moderations so people can leave comments in my absence. Which means that while the cat's away, Anonymous can play! (Please remember, however, that you may be speaking ill of the dead. And if you do, I will not hesitate to haunt you from the Great Beyond. Keep your hands out of your pants Anonymous! Play nice! I see you!) This will, in fact, be a curious vacation. I have not had an internet access-less vacation since, well, since the last time I went on a tropical vacation before both Zoey and Petunia Face were born. In fact, last time I went to Costa Rica I was trying to get pregnant with Zoey, resting my feet up high on the walls of our tiny cabina. But that was then, this is now. This is it; this is new. I am scared. Hold me.
In the meantime, check out this awesome website created by a doctor and a mid-wife. Titled The Belly Project, it features un-Photoshopped images of the bellies of women at various stages of their lives. Each photo is accompanied by information about the woman's reproductive history. Each photo tells a story in skin.
40 Years Old, 3 pregnancies (3 babies)Of course I chose an image of a perfect belly, mainly because I like how the sunlight is beaming down, the composition. But there are tons of bellies shown on the site, crepey, taut, jiggly, cheesy, tan, beautiful and oh dear. So as you peruse the stories, just know that wherever I am right now, on a perfect black sand beach at the edge of the jungle listening to the sawing of insects and the lull of the surf, I am desperately sucking in my gut and missing all of you.
Susannah, named after the Spanish word for Susannah.*Please note: I can only joke about dying in a plane crash because the very act of joking about it somehow lessens the probability. I mean, if I posted that and it happened? No effing way. And even this, this p.s.--this makes my flight and trip safer. This is my logic and I'm sticking to it. **Yes, we are coming back. May 30th. I think.