Ah, the beach. With the sand, hairy backs and sand…what’s not to love? Not much, frankly (double negative?). It’s awesome. For my money it’s up there with Chili’s Quesadilla Explosion Salads and Carolina hoops. Yeah, I love it that much. Gone are the days, however, of actually enjoying said beach. Gone are the days of “reading books” and “just heading down to the beach for a quick stroll.” Gone. Gonegonegonegone. Instead, let’s give a warm round of middle fingers to the days of the beach plus diaper-saddled kids.

Although we may appear happy, Page and I vehemently loathe these new days.

Sure, the kids are cute. They love the beach. But come on, this is ThePreggoPage.com. We keep it real here. I don’t want any of you to come back at me saying that we should be cheerier, blah, blah. Bottom line, the beach is no longer the beach. It’s rope-a-dope plus a sandy butt crack.

Allow me to explain.

1. Ducking the paparazzi, aka my wife.

The S.C. beach smog epidemic has become a real problem.

Page loves her some pictures. Loves them. As do most women, I’ve found. Most men? Seriously, get the camera out of my face. Now, of course, it’s always fun to see my fat, hairy ass frolicking with the kids after the fact, but in the course of action, it always gets me a little salty. “Oh, what, another one, babe? Hold one sec while I try to corral the greased pigs that are your sons.” “Nope, no, it’s not a problem for me to balance both boys on my shoulders while executing what is essentially a ‘reverse warrior’ yoga pose.” And then there’s the foggy camera lens issue, which rendered all of our pictures useless until we found out the beach trick of putting your camera on the deck for 30 minutes prior to use. As a side note, it actually felt that thick/foggy out there this weekend with those 100+ degree temps. Lord.

2. To nude-ify or not to nude-ify?

Ford's face here is truly disturbing.

This one needs to be defined for us. Please. It’s not a point of contention for me and Page, but we definitely differ. First let me say that neither of us care if our kids are walking around naked in public. “Just let it happen” is a personal Fehling motto (case in point: two kids within 15 months of each other). But I am far more conservative than Page when it comes to letting our boys flash complete strangers. Page? Let ’em hang. Me? Let’s wrap a towel around those things, shall we? Maybe it’s the fact that I’m from Pinehurst where I grew up being belted over the head with rules like your shorts “must be bermuda length or you will be shot,” or maybe I’m just a prude. In all seriousness, would love to hear people’s thoughts here.

3. I feel sorry for my parents and brother.

Run for your lives!!!

I think I can safely speak for them when I say that sharing a beach condo with me and Page is no longer “fun.” Welcome to your 6:45 a.m. wake-up call, kiddies! Yeah. By the end of our four days together, my brother had downloaded a sound machine app on his phone and my Mom was openly thanking us for taking the boys to the pool one morning. I nearly responded by apologizing that we didn’t just head back to Raleigh after leaving the pool. It was a rough stretch of mornings for the lil’ dudes. Ford gets cabin fever in about 14 seconds and Cal is cutting no less than 37 teeth. He also likes to eat anything in sight, and if someone around him even looks in the general direction of food, he turns into the equivalent of a grunting car alarm, where instead of keys you have to insert Goldfish, London broil and a gallon of milk. Together. He’s a machine. Either way, consider this your apology, Watson/Fehling Family.

I, of course, am being slightly – OK, very – melodramatic. It’s the beach. It’s not work. It was great. I actually got through a chapter of my book and took two naps. I ate about four liters of jalapeno pimento cheese and tried peach Firefly for the first time. Finally, it’s always good to see the fam. My 90+-year-old grandfather was there along with about 40 of his offspring and his offspring’s offspring. We do group dinners at about 10 p.m. every night, and I’m convinced that if there was ever a Family Feud-style charades game, we would smoke all comers. I actually have practiced what my pose would be as the “FEHLING” curtain is pulled back when we’re introduced…

First and only take. Nice work, Watson/Fehlings.

So there you have it. The be-ach still rocks. Sure it takes more effort (and by more I mean every ounce of your being), but watching the kiddos get hours of enjoyment out of making sand castles, smashing them, building them, smashing them, sigh, well, it makes it all worth it.