I am so tired. I don't really have the energy to write a blog about our trip right now, but I know if I don't do it while it's still fresh in my mind, it may not ever get written.
First things first, I must've been high when I signed us up for this trip. In my pregnant head (because we booked this cruise in April before John was ever born), I invisioned the fairly plasant time we'd had with Sam on the Carnival Celebration, when he'd been almost one, and thought this trip would be like that trip. I thought it would be a splendid time. Happy nearly-one-year-old John, happy two-year-old Sam spending his days at Camp Carnival, happy grandparents who were happy to babysit, happy Tom-and-Brittany-alone time, happy hanging-out-with-Nicole-by-the-pool-not-a-care-in-the-world time. Happy happy happy.
If this were a voiceover, you would suddenly hear the horrible scratch of a needle on a record, because as you might imagine, this trip was less like a fairy-tale-dream-come-true, and more like seven years in a Soviet gulag.
I'm not going to continue to belabor the miserable parts--mostly because I lived through it once and don't want to relive it now--but in a nutshell, when your two year old does not want to be at Camp Carnival, and wants to spend time with grandparents who he wears out, who keep handing him back to you, and he's without most of his toys, and has to sit and be good in strange places for long periods of time, you're not in for a happy time. Thank God we were in port (and therefore, off the ship) most of the trip, and after a helacious day with nothing planned in Grand Cayman, realized we needed to use our port time to let Sam burn off his energy. After we had that revelation, things got better...