I’ll be honest, vacationing with an eight-month-old is a whole heck of a lot different than I imagined going into our first family trip to Panama City. Maybe it was the shark attacks just down the beach resulting in lost limbs at the exact time we floated in the water with blissful ignorance or the fact that we’ll be cleaning sand out of our belongings for the next decade. Or that rest and relaxation doesn’t really exist beyond fitting in power naps when the baby goes down for his mid-day snoozes, little mini windows of decompression rather than a complete week’s worth. You replace the peacefu…