In a move that has shocked boomer relatives, kindergarten moms, and Instagram’s algorithm alike, my husband and I are heading to Tomorrowland. For both weekends. And we’re doing it without our three-year-old daughter, Vera.
Pause for dramatic gasps.
Yes, you heard right. While many families are cramming inflatable flamingos into their trunks and racing to Croatia to argue over sunscreen application, we’re flying to Belgium. To dance. To stay out late. To drink things with garnish. To live—uninterrupted by snack negotiations or Bluey marathons—for eleven entire days.
We’re not even pretending it’s for the “cultural aspect.” (Although, spoiler: Antwerp is lovely.)
The Judgy Gaze of the Public (and Extended Family)
Some responses we’ve received since going public with our no-child-left-behind agenda:
“But it’s summer! Don’t you want to take her to the beach?”
“Isn’t she going to miss you?”
“Tomorrowland… like, the festival? With the lasers and the shirtless people?”
“What will she eat?!”
To which we respond: calm down, she’s not being raised by wolves. She’s being looked after by my in-laws, who are actual angels disguised as pensioners with endless patience, snacks, and opinions on proper footwear.
What This Trip Actually Is (Spoiler: It’s Not a Crime)
Let’s break it down:
Two full weekends of Tomorrowland? Yes.
Midweek in Antwerp, doing extremely adult things like sitting in cafés uninterrupted and entering stores with festival accessories? You bet.
Vera? Thriving, loved, spoiled, FaceTimed daily, and probably eating more sweets than usual.
Let’s be clear: this is not abandonment. This is tactical parental preservation. This is two adults choosing joy, adventure, and Belgian beer over the martyrdom of family vacation logistics.
We Love Our Daughter. We Also Love Having a Personality.
Contrary to popular opinion, becoming parents did not erase our pre-parent selves. You know, the ones who enjoyed life after 8 PM? The ones who danced in crowds, not just living rooms? We used to have favorite DJs and spontaneous nights out. We also used to sleep.
Now, we also have a child, and she is, objectively, the coolest human we’ve ever made. But that doesn’t mean we stopped being people who like fun. And frankly, we’re more fun parents when we get to leave the house without a backpack full of apple slices every once in a while.
But What About the Seaside?
What about it?
Let’s review:
| Beach Holiday with Toddler | Tomorrowland with Husband |
| Sand in every crevice | Glitter in acceptable crevices |
| Loud crying by noon | Loud techno until midnight |
| Tantrums over floaties | Euphoria over fireworks |
| Shared bedroom (no sleep) | Camping and Hotel (YES sleep) |
| “Can I have a snack?” x 70 | “Can I have another Beer?” |
We’ll take lasers over life jackets, thanks.
Guilt? Not Really.
Do I miss her already? Absolutely.
Am I questioning whether this makes me a terrible mother? Only when I’m around people who wear “Mom Boss” hats unironically.
Let’s not romanticize martyrdom. Parenting is not a sentence; it’s a relationship. And like any good relationship, it needs space. It needs laughter. It needs both parties to not be completely drained by 7 PM every single day.
We’re not abandoning Vera. We’re charging up so we can return as present, fun, energized versions of ourselves—not those burnt-out zombie husks that show up to parent-teacher meetings looking like they’ve survived medieval warfare.
This Isn’t a Rebellion. It’s a Ritual.
Maybe it’s not about the music or the crowd or the deep-fried Belgian fries (though let’s be honest, those help). Maybe it’s about reminding ourselves that being parents didn’t erase our right to joy. Our right to do something wild just for us. Something that isn’t carefully curated for toddler enrichment.
Let’s normalize parents going to festivals. Let’s normalize married people still making out in public. Let’s normalize not putting your life on hold because you have a kid. Kids don’t need martyrs. They need happy, grounded, slightly sunburnt adults who have stories to tell and energy to read one more damn picture book before bedtime.
Closing Arguments (for the Prosecution)
To all those critics, may I offer you a glow stick?
Because yes—we’re going to Tomorrowland.
Twice.
And during the week we’re not dancing our faces off, we’ll be wandering through cobblestone streets in Antwerp, eating great food, drinking cold beer, and remembering what it feels like to be spontaneous. Unbothered. Undisrupted.
And when we come back?
Oh, we’ll come back. Buzzing. Smiling. Tired in that good way. With gifts for Vera and a playlist of songs that carried us through.
TL;DR
We’re skipping the beach. We’re going to Belgium. We’re dancing like people who didn’t get kindergarten twice in a row. Our kid is fine. Our marriage is better for it. And you can absolutely babysit next time if you’re so concerned.
Catch us in the crowd. We’ll be the ones shouting, “WE HAVE A TODDLER!” while ordering another round.
Erika Matic is a writer, mother, and woman of many contradictions—sometimes found dancing at a Belgian festival, other times arguing with a three-year-old about sock selection. She believes in honest motherhood, earned joy, and the radical act of remembering who you were before you started cutting grapes in quarters.
Leave a Reply