Your first holiday as a single parent might be a daunting prospect, but after a week of luxury in Jamaica you might just find you're the happiest people in the resortEnd of a long day at the beach, we're soaking in our palatial suite's oversize tub, martini glass misting on its tiled ledge, tall cold glass of milk beside it.We slip on robes, drift out to the balcony where dusk is painting pink our personal swatch of sea and sky. Room service has draped the table in white, laid out fresh pappardelle with saffroned scallops and prawns, rare steak, a fresh martini, a glass of milk ?Who'da thunk my first vacation alone with my three-year-old son could be like this? A week earlier, in a panic, I'd almost canned the whole thing.In the two years since Max's mum and I split, I've cautiously carved out a parallel existence as dutiful co-parent (dinner, nappies, lullabies) and single guy 30somethingdom (travelling to make documentaries, hitting the bars) with the considerable help of Max's adoring granny and his daycare.But when the custody gods decreed we'd have a whole week away to ourselves, I knew my kneejerk notions of "vacation" would need a rethink. Backpack years behind me, I'd still normally opt for the g�te or the ashram over anything with a whiff of prefab. But on the road? With a three-year-old? No nanny/no granny? And hoping to maybe, like, meet someone new?Clicking on "Caribbean all-inclusive" brings up deals for couples with kids or singles without, but for single parents the options are neither plentiful nor cheap. (Come on travel biz, where are the Yummy Mummy Cruises? Daycare and Daiquiris for Dad? Divorce rates not high enough to make it worthwhile?)Well, if this holiday isn't going to be a steal, might as well make it one to remember. And hopefully not just as plot fodder for a Seth Rogen movie.On the website for Half Moon in Montego Bay, the ocean views from the balconies plus the words "spa", "yoga" and "children's village" drive my cursor towards "rates". While Half Moon's not an all?inclusive, it does offer packages at a similar price.I picture myself in one of those beach chaises, sipping something boozy and fruity, while at my feet, sandcastling, my adorable pint-sizer beckons irresistibly to the lovely creatures strolling by.But as take-off draws near, different visions seep in. How will the reality of our mealtime dialogue ? "Max, eat ? Max, eat!" ? and our still-in-progress toilet training ? "Why didn't you warn Daddy?" ? play in a luxury resort?Will we spend meals locked in solitary parent-child kvetch in a dining room full of happily still-married families or the candlelit and childfree? Will I have the time or energy for such metrosexual concerns as whether these trunks make me look fat, or will I just feel like mainlining pina colada when Max finally succumbs to his nap?During the 10-minute drive to Half Moon from Montego Bay airport, Max finally conks out in the cab, while I think I should feel guiltier about the shanties lining the road. But after five hours of travel with a three-year-old, I can feel only relief when Half Moon's wrought-iron gates open on to palm-lined, manicured lawns, tennis courts, pools, a fleet of golf carts silently swishing.Max stroller-snoozes through check-in at the resort's breathtaking post-colonial plantation house. I sense the gaze of a lone young blonde woman with a Fendi bag thumbing unnaturally through some flyers. Then sense a husky husband hovering into view. Never mind, early days.Max wakes up in time for the golf cart ride to our room. One of the great pluses of Half Moon is that its rooms are housed in a series of two-storey villas, staggered to afford each inhabitant the feeling of an exclusive slice of ocean.It takes a moment to realise our second-floor suite is really ours: marble floors, high ceilings, regal sofas ? classic, rich, and decidedly ungeneric. A cot for Max will soon make its way from the living room ("Daddy, I'm scared." "Of what?" "Dinosaurs.") to the bedroom, next to the massive four-poster, freshly sprinkled with purple flower petals.The strain of travel drains away as it dawns on me and Max simultaneously that in this lush setting we will have each other's attention exclusively for a relaxed week. No rushing, no daycare, no work, no obligations. Suddenly giddy, we launch into a bed-bouncing, petal-strewing, pillow-fighting romp that lasts until a demure knock on the door signals evening turndown.At the weekly beach party, there are tiki torches and a reggae band, a buffet with every kind of surf and turf."Just the two of you? Is Mom in the room?" "No, she isn't." I sip my drink and assess that there are only couples and families present, which seems relaxing at this point. Max wastes no time channelling his favourite animated car movie hero for the benefit of a dark-haired beauty his age at the next table."I'm Lightning McQueen, the famous race car. Kick it into overdrive! Kachow!" She looks terrified but interested. Well, as long as one of us scores ?The next day, after brunch (to the waitress's "Just the two of you?" Max happily says, "Daddy, there's just the two of us!"), we take in the sun on inflatables in a long curvy pool, Max savouring his new pirate persona: "Move along scurvy dog!" We order daiquiris at the swim-up pool bar, his virgin, mine less so.The days drift seamlessly together. I feel us becoming a familiar fixture, my frequently heard paternal cry doesn't seem to be bothering anyone ? running down the lush, manicured walkways, "Maxie!", running along the beach, "Maxie!", transferring our pirate game to the ocean, "Maxie!". In the dining rooms, Max is given special attention by the staff, and the patrons all seem to beam with tolerance at the tableau of me chasing him round the tables.In the end, I barely use the children's village, with its charming and caring staff, which seemed such an important feature of the resort. OK, once or twice I avail myself for an hour or two so I can head to the spa for a truly divine massage ? but by and large I'm actually having too good a time with my kid to feel like parking him anywhere."Daddy," my son says to me a few days in, "can we not never go away from Jamaica?"And as I look at them, the couples and the families ? bless them for their tolerance ? the nervous newly- or not-quite-weds in their 20s and 30s, the snoozy couples beyond, it dawns on me that Max and I might just be the happiest couple in Montego Bay.? The Half Moon Jamaica (halfmoon.rockresorts.com) has superior rooms from �250 a night. Virgin Atlantic (virgin-atlantic.com) has return flights from Gatwick to Montego Bay from �517JamaicaCaribbeanNorth and Central AmericaBeach holidaysParents and parentingRest and relaxationLuxury travelFamily holidaysguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2011 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
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