BIRTH TRAVEL

Travel is taking on every thematic form imaginable these days. Marathon, public library, independent bookstore, plastic surgery, dental (Costa Rica’s supposed to be good for that), alternative medicine (China, where else). Unless they’ve already slipped out or are plotting to flee Namibia for parts afar, Angelina Jolie appears poised to deliver her baby in Africa. This begs the question: Will she inspire other women to follow suit? Will we soon see destination births, á la destination weddings (which once upon a time seemed like an extravagance only for the rich)?

I seriously doubt it. Yes, cost is a huge factor. But so too is sense of, and attachment to, place. The last thing I wanted to do when I got close to delivering was to stray too far from home. My baby was due the week before Labor Day. That summer, I did not travel, not even to the beach in North Carolina for a week, because I wanted to be near the best medical facilities in the event something happened. I did not visit my parents in Connecticut, because I wanted my baby to be born where I lived. I felt a primordial attachment to home, my home, and hospital, my hospital. Now, I’ve traveled some, but I’ve never lived a peripatetic existence of a movie star, so the attachment psychology there is something else altogether. Plus, Angelina Jolie has the damn paparazzi in the mix. Good for her for ducking those beasts.

Fortunately, the urge to travel returned as soon as I recovered from my son’s birth, a medically necessary C-section. He weighed nearly 11 pounds. He proved to be a stellar traveler. He never fussed when we traveled, not by car, train or plane. He made himself at home in hotel and motel rooms, rented houses, friends’ flats. After his imaginary friend Bodie, an African elephant, joined the family, when my son was three, Bodie came everywhere with us, too. Now, when my son got older, we did have our moments, like the time he announced at the top of his lungs “Mexico sucks!” shortly after we arrived at the airport in Mexico City. He was six. I didn’t know he knew the word “sucks.” He did come around, though I liked Oaxaca much, much more than he did.

He’s got the traveler’s spirit. Out of the blue a few months ago, he said he wanted to go L.A. He’s been pining for Australia now for at least four years. He wants to go to New Zealand because of the scenery in Lord of the Rings. Hawaii’s on his list, too. On past trips, he’s come up with his own Travel Rules, adages really: Don’t judge a city by its busstop. As for hotels: It’s not the way it looks, it’s how it feels.

I think he’d like the feel of this one, and the looks, too: four nights at the Paradisus Palma Real Resort in Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic. This SWEEPS, sponsored by Woman’s Day, is for a family of four. The rules define a family of four as two adults and two children. (I always check the language with these family prizes, since I’m the single mother of a singleton. If I won, we’d ask a mother-son pair to join us.) The resort looks wildly luxurious. My son would love it, though so far, the thing he loves most about traveling is having a chance to be out in nature. If we went to Punta Cana, we’d have to be sure we found a great place to merengue. Woman's Day, by the way, has a slew of giveaways, travel and others; click here. For the Punta Cana trip, it’s one email entry per day through May 18.

As for my prognostication on destination births, I should disclose that a few years ago, when wedgies made a comeback, I predicted they’d be a flash in the pan. They’re still as big as ever. Shows to go. Meanwhile, I get my Angelina and Brad news from this site, PittWatch.