I love a routine. I thrive on order and stability, and when my carefully laid plans get upset, so do I. I tend to regard such upsets as interruptions and intrusions, things to be fixed–though I am learning, with time and age and grace, to look upon them more invitingly. To see a designing hand in the midst of what looks like chaos.

But my love for a schedule intrudes even upon those times when I’m not supposed to have one: namely, vacation. Now don’t get me wrong–the itinerary doesn’t have to be packed to be satisfactory; in fact, I prefer it not be. This is one of the (many) reasons The Husband and I are perfect for each other: our idea of the perfect vacation involves a beach, a book, and the following routine: lift bottle to lips and drink. But I tend to get antsy if I’m sitting in one place too long, even if it is in front of a blue-green ocean, so I impose some predictable transition: read two chapters, go for a swim, towel off, reapply sunscreen, get a drink, begin again. Lather, rinse, repeat could well be my mantra.

TH and I went to Seaside this past weekend to celebrate our one-year anniversary. I’m so thankful for this trip, planned well before my untimely work dismissal and nonrefundable, and for the way vacations reset our clocks and teach us to re-appreciate one another. From the time we crossed the bridge on 331 and caught our first glimpse of water, my heartbeat slowed down and peace invaded my soul. Other than the spot between the Pitons in St. Lucia where we honeymooned (which is much less accessible), this beach is my favorite in the world. And spending it beside my favorite person? Heaven.

Our first night, we had dinner at the venue where our wedding and reception were held. We happened to be passed by our wedding coordinator, the venue’s event planner, on our way from the parking lot across the street, and she gave us a ride to the restaurant in her golf cart. The last time we were in that cart, we were being driven away from our reception, he in his tux and I in my dress, as our guests waved sparklers in the night. This night it was just us and the sunset and our baby kicking away (that kid loves a champagne toast).

The rest of the weekend was spent eating and sitting on the beach, with dips in the crystal-clear water thrown in. Our last morning, we picked up coffee in “town” (i.e., a two-minute walk from our cottage) and camped out one last time in the floury white sand. The early-morning water was calm and glasslike, with an occasional rolling wave. I felt the water rock me and the breeze sweep my faace and was reminded yet again of what it feels like to know we’re not alone in this world–to be able to look around at the beauty and know it has a source, to see devastation and know it will be answered. To feel the nail marks in his hands and touch his side.

I needed those moments more than I knew, because life goes on even when you step away from it and expects you to jump right back on the wheel when you return. And when I went to the OB yesterday and met the midwife (trust me, not a hippie thing–she’s legit), I was warned of a complication that could lie ahead–of numbers that will be closely monitored, of activity that needs to be lessened. No more elliptical workouts or spin class for me (I’ll miss you, Zach!) My routine reduced to dust, I drove to Target and comforted myself with a stop at Starbucks–where the barista asked what I was having. I almost angrily repeated my order (Vanilla latte! It’s not rocket science!) until I realized she was looking at my belly, marking the first time a stranger has asked about The Kid. That was when my smile returned.

Then, this morning I turned to my new, low-impact workout and suffered through thirty minutes of yoga (maybe I am becoming a hippie…) and it turned out that The Kid loves it. He’s flopping around like crazy in there hours later. This new low-impact living is not what I would have chosen, but sometimes these moments of slowing down are bestowed as blessings, not provided upon request. Sometimes a greater wisdom interrupts the work and workout schedule and steps in to wipe off the lens and calm the waters so that you can feel them rocking gently, even from hundreds of miles away.