Costa Rica


“Costa Rica, my heart’s devotion. Let it sink back in the ocean. Ay, ay, ay.”

Sometimes, in the swoon of my undying love of the soundtrack of “West Side Story,” I get a little confused. Puerto Rico? Costa Rica? It’s a fantastic song either way, one which I sang constantly during our four day whirlwind babymoon trip last week. As I sit here not watching the Super Bowl, I’m oiling up my tin man joints. And by that, I mean I’m trying to get back into my blog writing groove. I’m feeling a little rusty, as evidenced by the weird “Wizard of Oz” metaphor I just attempted. Oiling up my tin man joints? Woof. What kind of writing is that?

The truth is, it’d be nearly impossible to write about Costa Rica without bragging my brains out. Guys, it was amazing. It was one of those rare trips where everything exceeds expectations. After the first day of hiking, swimming and lounging around the treehouse-like eco lodge we had all to ourselves, feeling giddy and grateful in love, I wrote in my journal that it was “as close to a perfect day as I think I’ve ever had.” Guys, I don’t write crap like that unless I really mean it. I also wrote a whole paragraph about how cute Trent was as he tried to knock star fruit out of a tree with a broom, swearing at the birds who went after the ones he wanted. He was so proud of himself cutting up that fallen star fruit, as proud as a … no … I’m going to stop myself before I botch another metaphor.

Even our muddy, strenuous hike along the mind-blowingly blue Rio Celeste was wonderful, even with my lopsided pregnant bod and Trent’s torn ACL, even with the two separate strangers we met along the way who asked me if I was having twins. (Guys, don’t ask anyone that question, OK? Ever. Just promise.) Even with that it was lovely.

We fought only once, the day we spent at the beach, but it was the kind of fight that needs to happen, the kind that resolves some long-suppressed feelings, the kind that leaves you feeling freer and closer at the end of it. Plus for us one fight per trip definitely qualifies as exceeding expectations. We Murpheys are a volatile duo, even in paradise.


Oh, yeah. I was there too. In all my pregnant glory …


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