Viva Las Vegas

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. 

WAIT, WHAT?

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.  

 

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