I’m currently sitting at the SFO airport ready to board my flight to Vegas for a work trip. While I’m excited to see the clients I work with on a daily basis, I’m in disbelief that this will be three FULL days without my baby.
I know Henry is in good hands with his loving father and the nanny, but I can’t believe I won’t be able to touch his soft little hands or his fat little feet until Thursday morning. This seems like a form of torture.
Oh, God! I’m tearing up, and people are staring.
As I’m prepped with my pump and storage bags to pump breastmilk while I’m away, I just found out that our hotel room doesn’t come with a refrigerator.
I guess I’ll be making several trips to the ice machine…
I would be fine with that except for the fact that the hotel charges EXTRA if you want a fridge.
I’m getting penalized and charged to have a place to safely store food for my growing infant?
That is seriously F*cked up. You can bet that I’ll be mentioning this to the front desk when I check in.