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My in-laws took Erin, Abby, Abby’s Aunt Kaeli, and me to Blue Mountain for a week.  Not only is that very generous of them, it was also very brave of them, seeing as Abby is 14 months old and a bit of nutcase.  Even in a two-bedroom condo she can take up a lot of room, and that’s above and beyond the sheer amount of stuff that she needs just to stay overnight somewhere (it took two vehicles to get all the playpens, highchairs, toys, beach umbrellas, and diaper bags to Collingwood, for crying out loud).

It was the week of constant sunshine and record-breaking heat waves.  I shouldn’t complain; our room backed on to the pool and there was a play fountain in the square down the street.   It just meant that Abby was constantly greasy with sunscreen and I was constantly greasy with sweat.

Blue Mountain is really just a little Epcot centre (without the creepy costumed perverts and awkward nods to cultural education).  The buildings are all lodge-ish, the streets are pedestrian only, and the restaurants are about 20% more expensive than they would be in a normal town.  You can go climbing up and down the hill (too hot), downhill bike the ski runs (too dangerous), or ride down some strange hand-operated rollercoaster thing (too… I don’t know, actually… it was too strange to say).  Erin, Abby, and I opted to stick to swimming, splashing, and eating, with naps sprinkled liberally between those activities.

Amidst the relaxation, there were some key moments for me, perfect little instants that sometimes need to happen far from home.  My favourite was the first time that Abby reached out for me to hold her while we were swimming.  Erin has done all of Abby’s swimming lessons and at first Abby did not seem to trust me to keep her from drowning.   By the end of the trip Abby was sitting on the edge of the pool and falling into my arms in a trust-affirming act of baby skydiving.

I am glad to be home, but it is hard to deny that I miss that pool.