I don’t know how I completely forgot to mention this on the blog, but: I’m going to Las Vegas. Tomorrow. I know, you’d think that might’ve come up earlier, right? Oops.
My friend Kris is getting married, and for some bizarre reason that I cannot begin to fathom, they’re having the wedding in Las Vegas. (Different strokes, right? You couldn’t have paid me to have a destination wedding, but that’s just me.) I have very mixed feeling about going, mostly because I hate to fly, and I’m not a huge fan of Las Vegas. I don’t gamble, I don’t drink that much, I have no need for legalized prostitution, and that’s about the sum total of Las Vegas’s appeal right there. But you know, someone I love is getting married, so off I go.
Also: I’m going by myself. Dave and Catie were invited, of course, but Dave can’t really take time off from work right now, and flying six hours with a two year-old sounded only slightly less fun than a poke in the eye, so I decided, no. My mother-in-law is visiting right now (she got here on Wednesday, another thing I forgot to mention on the blog), so she and Dave are going to take care of Catie while I go.
The weird thing is, in Catie’s two-plus years on this planet, I have spent a grand total of one night away from her. ONE. In her WHOLE life. (This trip here, in case you were wondering.) So I’m very nervous about this trip, because I’ll be gone for two nights, and this will be Dave’s first time ever doing the solo-parenting gig overnight. And ok, he’s not technically a solo-parent, since his mom is here to help out, but still. You know what I mean. Since I’m usually Catie’s “translator” because I understand a lot of her gibberish that Dave doesn’t get, I’m a little worried about how they’re going to do on their own.
At the same time, though, I’m going to be flying by myself for the first time since Catie was born. That means no stroller to lug through security. No portable DVD player. No bag loaded down with toys, books, snacks, sippy cups, diapers, and a million other things. Just me. My purse, a book and my iPod. The end. It sounds so easy. I might actually enjoy this flight just because I’m going to have a few solid hours of alone time, which almost never happens.
Oh, and I’ll be staying in a hotel room. With a king-size bed. By myself. Where no one will wake me up at 4 a.m. by screaming, “Mommy! Daddy! Help help help!!!” into the baby monitor. I almost can’t imagine that.
So, yeah. Look out Las Vegas, here I come. I won’t be partaking in your casinos, your hookers, or (very much of) your booze. But I am very much looking forward to your hotel room, where I will be sleeping. A lot.