No lawyer post this week… sorry! And yes, I was supposed to post on Friday… wait until you hear why I’m late…

So, on Friday, as we’re rushing to the airport, I grabbed McDonald’s for myself, my husband, and our almost 2 year old. We’re in a hurry because we’re headed to Las Vegas and we’re running late. Before you assume a wild and crazy weekend in Vegas, read above re: two year old. That, and we’re headed there for a funeral.

We make the plane, eat the McDonald’s, and arrive in Vegas. It’s 112 degrees. Or more. The car temps kept going up and up, but who knows if that’s believable or not. We hit the hotel, get our luggage, and change into our funeral gear, and head to the funeral home.

I start not feeling great, but maybe it’s because I’m depressed about my husband’s aunt dying and sad family members. But I power through and manage to even keep the 2 year old mostly quiet during the service.

As we’re headed back to the hotel, around 8 (which is usually our daughter’s bed time), I comment I’m feeling a bit nauseated. Husband answers he is too, but that’s how he usually feels after flying. Jokes that I might be pregnant (I’m not!).

Get back to the hotel, where we have a really great room that overlooks the next door hotel’s pool, where they’re having a major pool party. Really loud pool party. Manage to get daughter down to sleep at 9 pm, congratulate selves on little crying from her. Collapse on bed.

9:15, daughter starts screeching, so I get up and see what’s wrong. As soon as I pick her up, she throws up. Rush her to the bathroom, she continues puking. I’m covered in it, her blanket, pillow, and stuffed lion are covered in it.

Husband gives her a bath while I try and rinse everything out. Baby falls asleep on husband’s chest.

At 10 pm, she wakes up because he moves her, climbing out of bed. I groan, which is drowned out by the thumping baseline of the party next door. Husband starts puking, but since he’s a grownup and made it to the toilet, I don’t get up. Baby falls back asleep on me.

At midnight, I transfer her back to her crib with scavenged pillow blankets, and slightly soggy lion. Head back to bed. Listen to the DJ calling for “shot, shot, shot, shot”

At 4 am, daughter starts wailing again. Groggily fearing more vomit and knowing we’ve already run out of towels, I stumble towards her. Getting up was a mistake. At least the music stopped sometime around 2 am. I comfort her quickly, then rush to the bathroom so I can throw up too. Our trifecta is complete. Thanks McDonald’s!

Baby gets up at 7:15, chipper as ever and ready to start her day. Her father and I look and feel like death warmed over, but have to meet the family for breakfast. We make it there on time, miraculously, and don’t mention our night. No one seems to notice we barely pick at our food. Good thing our daughter is keeping them entertained.

We fly back to our hometown, feeling miserable. My parents take my daughter out to dinner, and we collapse on the couch.

There’s more to the story, but I kind of think we’re winning for worst trip to Vegas ever.

I was going to tie this in to writing about you have to make your characters journeys not completely dark and miserable – give them at least a little bit of light, even if only to emphasize the dark. But you know what? I actually ate lunch today and now I need to go lay down, because I think that was a mistake…

I hope you all had a better weekend than we did.