We spent all day Wednesday at North Beach on Tybee Island. It was a lot less windy than it had been on Tuesday evening (which we spent at a more southerly beach on Tybee) and we heard on the news over breakfast that it was because of the big storm that rolled in that evening. I was glad the wind really was atrocious on Tuesday because...it had been a while since we'd made it to the beach...and I couldn't remember if it was always that miserable and I had just been remembering things wrong or what. The sand was stinging our legs as it hit and it was really quite uncomfortable.
But on Wednesday all we had was a lovely sea breeze and the day was perfectly beautiful.
I took a million pictures because (a) we haven't been to the beach in forever and (b) I'm a lot less adventurous when I go to the beach pregnant than when I go to the beach when I'm not so while everyone else was enjoying boogie boarding out in the waves I took a gentler approach...
That's not to say I never got in the water (because I definitely did) and it's not to say that I didn't take a few modest turns on the boogie board (because...I definitely did), but I largely tried to avoid the "extreme" side of beach sports. Instead I spent my time divvying out snacks, fixing peanut butter and jam sandwiches, and taking pictures. As you can see, I wasn't exactly lonely. Alexander was often more than happy to keep my lap company. But he also loves the ocean.
Like I said, I took about a million pictures and I'm not quite sure how to use them to tell a story. We went to the beach. The kids played in the ocean. All day. The end.
So...perhaps I'll just start with pictures highlighting the youngest and work our way up...
Alexander, as I said, loved the ocean. He was so adorable on his boogie board that people would stop to watch him catch wave after wave. He had some gnarly wipe outs and would come up choking and sputtering, but when he was "rescued" would start yelling, "Put me back! Put me down! Do it again!"
An older gentleman who'd stopped to watch said to me, "I keep waiting for him to cry..."
But he never did. He just kept picking himself up (or...kept being picked up by Andrew) and then would beg to go again. He only took a break when we forced him to. He was so reluctant to get out of the water and kept paddling deeper and deeper so whoever was in the water with him had a big job keeping him on this side of the Atlantic. It was like he was determined to swim to Morocco. He'd hit the ocean and just...head out to the open sea!
|Benjamin wiping out, with Alexander, Zoë, and Andrew in the background|