The Dos and Don’ts of Planning a Memorable Babymoon
The week I found out I was pregnant, I hightailed it to Google Flights and nabbed a pair of cheap round-trip tickets to Paris. We had been grounded for a few months while undergoing an uncomfortable, if ultimately successful, round of IVF, and the BFP—“big fat positive,” in infertility parlance—was just the license I needed to plan a trip. Where better to celebrate one last gasp of glamorous pre-child adulthood than the City of Light? We’d stroll under twinkly Christmas decorations, while away the hours in hidden cocktail dens, and eat some of the best food on Earth.
Wrong! The vacation was the worst of our lives. It was such a disaster, in fact, that we called a Mulligan and planned a do-over getaway in Bermuda a few months later. Ultimately, we had the best of babymoons and we had the worst of babymoons. Here’s what we learned:
Don’t: Travel too early in the pregnancy
Although every pregnancy is different, the American Pregnancy Association estimates that more than half of pregnant women experience morning sickness, especially early on. In Paris, I was was just finishing the first trimester, but I felt off the entire time thanks to a no-sleep overnight flight, persistent jet-lag, and lingering morning sickness. (Props to the Grand Palais for outfitting every exhibition room with a bench.) By contrast, traveling to Bermuda at 23 weeks was a breeze. Of course, it’s impossible to predict any of this before you’re actually pregnant, so hold off booking non-refundable airfare (or blowing hard-earned credit card points on hotels) until you know how you’re feeling.
Do: Be realistic about the destination
The Paris I had remembered was effervescent and verdant—picnickers slathering ripe cheeses atop crusty bread, Provencal roséglistening in the springtime gloaming. The Paris we visited in December was cold, damp, and gray; the sun didn’t appear for a week. Tempting though it may be to romanticize the idea of a destination, it’s better to be real about where you’re going, and when. Bermuda, at a bright 75 degrees, proved much more enjoyable.
Don’t: Plan a culinary vacation
Last summer, my husband and I drove across Central France, down the Basque coast to San Sebastián, along the French-Spanish border, and up through the French Alps. We ate our weight in pintxos, begged our way (sans reservations) into Asador Etxebarri, considered one of the best restaurants in the world, and stayed overnight at a three-Michelin-starred Relais & Châteaux retreat in the ski town of Megève. In the last 5 years alone, our palates have guided us to Asia three times. So naturally Paris, one of the great food cities, felt like a natural choice—that is, of course, until I realized I wasn’t actually in the mood to eat anything. Plan a gastronomy-fueled babymoon at your own peril, lest you end up emptying the contents of your stomach in the basement bathroom of a French cooking school while your husband sifts almond flour into macaron batter upstairs.
Do: Plan breakfast
Eating breakfast during pregnancy is non-negotiable, and it’s particularly critical during the first trimester. As much as I appreciated our Paris hotel’s proximity to Hermès window-shopping, I would have sooner stayed somewhere outside a “restaurant desert,” as a friend (and local expat) called the retail-heavy neighborhood. To eat anything balanced in the morning meant walking a mile both ways, paying an outrageous sum for room service (10 Euros for a banana), or forking over 36 Euros (per person) for a flabby breakfast buffet. On the other hand, at the millennial-pink Hamilton Princess & Beach Club in Bermuda, the daily spread in the Fairmont Gold Lounge—included in our room rate—made breakfast a no-brainer.
Don’t: Apologize for doing exactly what you want
One morning, while my husband took a golf lesson on the other side of Bermuda, I woke up, ate breakfast, lounged by the adults-only pool for an hour, took a barre class at the on-site Exhale Spa, got a prenatal massage, and lounged by the adults-only pool for another four hours. Then we ate a leisurely dinner at the bar at Marcus’, Marcus Samuelsson’s restaurant just off the hotel lobby, and retired to our room to cackle at The Bachelor: The Women Tell All. Although it wasn’t the most exciting day abroad we’ve ever had (cue the time we biked 50 miles through the Mekong Delta in Vietnam) it felt perfect in the moment. Don’t want to sightsee? Don’t. You can drag a baby through a museum; you can’t drag a baby to a barre class. If there’s ever a time to be selfish, this is it.
