Last week, Mandy and I went to Las Vegas. With the baby now due in less than six months, it will probably be our last adult holiday together for some time. As a bastion of adult entertainment, Sin City seemed like a particularly appropriate place to go.
Rejoicing in our child-free status, we stayed at the Bellagio (only children of guests allowed on the premises), marvelled at the bountiful number of bare breasts bouncing up and down at Jubilee!, and pushed way too many $20 bills into video poker machines in smoke-filled casinos.
Actually, the smoke was the one thing that made Vegas a less-than-ideal destination for a pregnant mother-to-be. We couldn’t get away from it. It seemed as if every smoker in the rest of the United States had fled the bans in their home states and taken refuge in the city. The place has the most permissive attitude to smoking I’ve encountered anywhere in the US. You can smoke pretty much everywhere – in the casinos, the restaurants, the restrooms and the public areas of the hotels – and it’s a right that’s enthusiastically exercised. Perhaps when they’re thinking of the theme for one of the hotels now under construction someone might consider “smoke-free” a suitable choice.
No trip to the US would be complete without spending a day (or preferably longer) in the mall. Although Mandy’s expanding waistline spared me from the usual treks around Gap and Banana Republic, maternity stores were on the to-do list instead. Bermuda only has a couple of such stores, and the selection apparently isn’t that great.
Mandy’s first maternity shopping experience came courtesy of A Pea In The Pod in the Fashion Show Mall. She was practically jumping up and down with excitement when we first stumbled across it, but her enthusiasm waned when she saw the prices. Who could afford to pay almost $200 for a pair of jeans that would get less than 6 months wear? Fortunately, she was able to quench her maternity clothing thirst with a couple of sale items, at least until we found a branch of the more reasonable Motherhood Maternity later in the week.
The most shocking items I saw in the maternity stores were the nursing bras and maternity knickers. I didn’t realise women needed maternity underwear too. The prospect of Mandy eschewing Victoria’s Secret for these frighteningly voluminous garments was almost too much to bear.
Maternity clothes weren’t the only baby-related products we went shopping for. We took the opportunity to stop at a Pottery Barn Kids to look at a dresser-cum-changing table that we’d seen online (bearing in mind Rita and Liz’s advice that a standalone changing table is a waste of money for the amount of use it will get). We were glad we did – Pottery Barn’s dresser looked cheap and didn’t seem particularly well put together. We’ll have to find something else.
These shopping expeditions weren’t the only reminders of Mandy’s physical condition. She almost passed out one morning while queuing in the buffet line for breakfast (although the buffet alone did provide most of her Rita and Liz-mandated 12 servings of fruit and veg for the day). One afternoon, while walking back to our hotel from Caesar’s Palace, a look of shock crossed her face as she told me that her belly had suddenly changed shape. She could feel the skin stretching with it.
Since the bump first appeared I’ve become much more nervous when Mandy’s doing anything where she might slip and fall. This irritates her immensely. While scrambling down a rocky slope in the Valley of Fire she violently resisted my attempts to hold her hand, even though she’s perfectly happy to hold it when we’re walking down the street. “I’m not an invalid,” she grumbled.
Of course, she’s perfectly happy to use her pregnancy as an excuse just after she’s dropped another particularly unpleasant fart.
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