Jaquie Brown: How many years 'til parentmoon?

Jaquie Brown's son went along for the babymoon. Photo / Supplied

Opinion

When I was pregnant with my son a few years ago, I received every piece of advice under the sun including wisely "don't cry if you can't see your feet" but it wasn't until I started researching for my book I'm Not Fat, I'm Pregnant (Shameless self-promotion I know) that I stumbled across a little known term — "The Babymoon" — and parents began strongly advising me to take one.

The babymoon is a romantic holiday the couple takes together before the birth of their first precious beautiful angel. Or in other words, before their faces fall off from sleep deprivation and they never leave the house again. A great idea which we thought about, but of course never got round to. My priority then was nesting and trying to reach the back of every cupboard with a damp cloth.

And besides, we figured naively that we'd have loads of opportunities to have a relaxing holiday again once we were parents. FOOLS!

This time round, five months pregnant with a 2-year-old in tow, we decided we would try and take one of these babymoon things as we missed the boat last time.

After many positive comments from friends, we settled on Fiji and the InterContinental on the Coral Coast. A 45-minute drive from the airport to a sandy beach. Sold. We were hoping we'd escape the New Zealand winter, get some sleep and come back refreshed with enviable golden tans. It was a great plan.

But a plan was all it turned out to be.

Now I don't like to complain but I'm going to anyway. The thing about going on an overseas holiday when you are tired and pregnant and have your darling 2-year-old who has energy to burn in tow, is that you are not actually having a holiday.

More, you are doing the same thing you'd do at home in a different location but with more difficulty and a lot more expense. I must have been the biggest doofus in the world to not figure this out before leaving.

I'm not sure when I had the epiphany, maybe during another painfully public Terrible 2s tantrum at mealtime, perhaps being conked in the eye with a bread roll, or perhaps when I was hiding in the bathroom faking a tummy bug because that was the only place I could truly have some quiet time. Who can say? But this wasn't a holiday like we'd had previously as carefree childless young adults — no, sir. There was no downtime, it was all toddler time.

But once I'd worked that out and given the evil eye to all the couples swanning around without kids, I settled into our reality. We were actually having our first overseas family holiday ... aww, spesh.

Our little man loved the beach and the sand — throwing it, eating it, the usual. He was fascinated by the water and wanted to splash in it all the time. It began not to matter that we didn't have a single cocktail or sleep-in, and my eyesight soon returned after the bread roll incident. Without sounding like a total cheeseball, the joy for me came from watching him, rather than from lying on a towel.

The good points: I snorkelled, which was great, so many colourful fush! There's a luxury spa, a proper one with fluffy robes and slippers. I got a massage which was oily and blissful, and the breakfast buffet was extensive.

The best part for me was the room. Each room had a huge deep bath outside on the veranda, so we were able to have baths at night in the fresh air. Breakfasts and baths are my favourite things.

Overall, a good experience. But a holiday with a young child is not a restful relax-a-thon by any stretch of the imagination.

So take heed, pregnant readers, book your "babymoon" now.