I am back from my work travels. Tired and with a bit of a cold. I worked 14 days straight at two back-to-back trade shows in two of the U.S.'s most diverse cities in which to be pregnant: Salt Lake City, Utah (the nation's most fertile state with its youngest population) and Las Vegas.
Being 5 months pregnant in Salt Lake just means that most people assume I'm on baby #6. Pregnant women (umm, really girls - they all look so damn young) and small children abound here. Infertility sucks in itself but to be infertile and living in Salt Lake would be a double burden to bear. Fertiles are everywhere.
Las Vegas. A completely different story. Being obviously pregnant in Sin City is tantamount to being a circus freak.
I don't even like Vegas. It is so opposite my style to begin with. Suffice it to say that being pregnant + Vegas = majorly no fun. For instance:
Men obviously staring at my chest and then my belly. I felt like I was on display.
No sushi at Nobu. Sigh.
No Maker's Mark and ginger ale at AJ's Steak House.
No Hard Rock Casino for people watching - as a general rule I don't gamble. Too much second hand smoke.
One night I attempted to rally and go to the Mix, a fabulous nightclub that looks out over the Strip on the top floor of the Hotel with some colleagues. Okay, it was crowded but I swear the bouncer took one look at my pregnant belly and informed us it would be at least an hour before we would even be let into the bar.
Apparently no one wants to disturb the carefree vibe that is the very lifeblood of Vegas with a visible reminder of a knocked up gal.
Thank goodness for the Bathhouse spa and pedicure. And room service.
In the end, I am glad that I was fortunate enough to be dealing with those minor inconveniences. Missy handled the long days like trooper. Now, we rest for a few days. And do the laundry.