I had a horribly wonderful idea to make one last fun-filled family trip before the baby comes July 1. Since it's only a quick six hour drive, why not spend Mother's Day weekend in Vegas? We kept it family friendly and made reservations for Circus Circus. Although Jackson is too small and I'm too large to ride any of the amusement park rides, I figured there would be plenty for him to see and do.
I researched all the kid friendly activities in Vegas and found that there were more than I expected, and many were free. So, the list of activities included a lion habitat, aquarium, free shows at Treasure Island and Circus Circus and the Bellagio fountains, of course.
We could see Treasure Island was only two casinos away, so we pack up our child, a cocktail, some gun magazines (don't ask...) and started strolling the strip. Forgetting that the Strip is an optical illusion, we made it all of two long blocks before I started having contractions. We immediately purchased a bus ticket as I sat on the bus stop 'bench' and tried to pull it together. And by 'bench' I mean metal rod. I might as well have been sitting on a 2x4.
The bus arrived and we scrambled to get on. At this moment I realized we are 'those people.' We were the morons who brought a baby to Vegas! Josh gets into an altercation with the bus driver about having a stroller in the isle. I'm balancing a very large one year old child on my hip, wearing a diaper bag and hanging onto the stripper pole for dear life.
Saturday morning arrives and all plans have changed. The super fun list of activities is in the garbage and we now have only two goals: hang out at the pool and have Mother's Day Brunch. Like complete fools, we decide to give Treasure Island's pool a try. But this time we were smart enough to drive. We meet up with our friends and head to the pool.
OH DEAR LORD! What in God's name have we gotten ourselves into! Josh rolls into the pool, dad style, with his trunks, white t-shirt and Oakley's, pushing a stroller. Jackson is sporting his best sea turtle swim shirt, crab trunks, swim shoes, monster hat and tiny baby sunglasses - still streaked from head to toe with SPF 50+. And then here I come. The freaking mama caboose of this family vacation pool party train wreck. I'm waddling and sporting the finest maternity swim dress. We're surrounded by hundreds of people, no older than 25. The music is bumping. There's a conga line in the pool. I've never seen such tiny swimwear in my life. I think some of the guys were wearing bikini bottoms. Not one sober person was within 100 yards. I say to Josh "I don't think there's room in this pool for Jackson's swim toys!" We were back at Circus Circus where we belonged faster than you could say Rubber Duck.
On the way home we stopped at Hoover Dam, an Area 54 gas station and a brothel owned by the same guy who owns the Bunny Ranch. We took pictures. Although awkward at times, we made our own fun. But we learned a very valuable lesson - Vegas is for making babies, not taking babies.
