It's my own personal purgatory.
Originally Harry looked at me with his big man doe eyes and said, "You won't really need a kitchen will you? I mean, this hotel has a tiny fridge and a mini microwave - that's all you need, right?"
When he regained consciousness and rubbed the MacAir-shaped bruise on his face he quickly reconsidered and found us a place a LOT less fancy and a LOT less convenient but with a full/mini kitchen. How am I to entertain a kid without my stockpile of Fisher Price, V-tech, CAT and Melissa and Doug helpers???
To put it simply - I am terrified.
But since my dear mother was often too scared to let my sister and I do things that were asked of us like SIGNING A MODELING CONTRACT TO LIVE IN NEW YORK FOR A YEAR when we were kids - I decided that I was going to be a "cool mom" and let my concerns shift to the backburner --- all the while my fingernails are being chewed down to nubs. I'm sure my dear, sweet, semi-backwoods mother thought she was doing the best for her two daughters when she declined to sign us, wishing, I hope, that we would have a more normal life in WV than in NY. Although I'm sure if she knew what was to come in the years to follow she'd have shipped us in crates to get us good and gone before things in the Adkins household hit the big ass fan.
But I digress.
I am going to face my fears and put on a happy, tight, wide-eyed face and let my kid have the life I never had - one free of terror, nervousness and enough anxiety to fill one's own "FAME!' lunchbox with their regurgitated breakfast.
Which, really, I only did that one time. In Kindergarten. And first grade. And...
So wish me luck, blogosphere, as I boldly journey where no/tons of moms have gone before --- on vacation!!!!