Well, that was fun. The morning of our trip, Hubby and I ran around the house like lunatics, doing all sorts of last minute chores, and yet we still managed to leave the luggage tags sitting on the kitchen table. That's how we roll, I guess.
We actually paid for the cab ride to the airport three times, since Hubby realized when we were mere blocks away that he forgot his antibiotics. Back to the house we went, and I thanked my lucky stars that we live in the Midwest now, and cab fare is cheap. And of course, we forgot the luggage tags again.
Aside from these annoyances, and a few at the hotel, we had a great trip. We ate a lot, and the food was surprisingly good. We didn't go out dancing/partying quite as much as I wanted at the time. In retrospect, we got some much needed quiet time together, without animals. I got to see some family, and rekindle my love affair with the potato (fried! sauteed! mashed! boiled!). I also met a new friend, 1921 Tequila Cream. Oh. My. God. Soooooo yummy!
I can't help but feel guilty, though. I'm trying to get pregnant. I shouldn't be drinking at all, much less in the quantities I drank last week. I definitely enjoyed myself, and even though I didn't get stupid drunk at all (except maybe once), I'm punishing myself for the good times now. My brain is a constant stream of "That's why you can't stay pregnant. You'd make a crappy mom." And my all time favorite, "If you do get pregnant this month, and Something Happens, it will be because you had a good time." Nice.
But then I remember - 3 years. We've been in this semi-fertility hell for more than three years now. I'm allowed to enjoy myself once in a while without feeling guilty for it. I certainly don't drink much, if at all, when we're not travelling, so I'm going to drink up and get down while on vacation (unless, of course, I happen to already be pregnant. Maybe next year, which we've already begun to plan.)
The best thing about the vacation by far (unless, of course, I end up pregnant as a result of it) has been the lens through which it allowed me to view my real life. And you know what? I am truly lucky: I love my husband, and he loves me. We have a really wonderful relationship, despite the occasional bumps. I love my house, even though it needs work. I love my pets. I love my family, even though they sometimes make me want to scream. We have stable jobs and an income that allows us to take a fairly nice vacation every year, pay off debt, and put a little into savings. My life is actually pretty good, and maybe, just maybe, things will work out for us.
I guess I'm feeling optimistic. Today, anyway :)
