I’ve been out of town this week, in what I hope will be my last business trip for a while. Traveling while pregnant has been about the most miserable experience I’ve had recently. Why?
Well, I’m pregnant enough to be perpetually exhausted, which makes this work-trip a herculean effort. I’m also unable to drink away my anxiety of flying, which as you can imagine, has made me an oh-so-pleasant person. My pregnant nose was sensitive enough that the stinky guy next to me on the plane had me dry heaving. And I’m putting down enough food at each meal to have bystanders looking at me like I’ve got some binge-eating problems.
To add insult to injury I’m not pregnant enough to have the obvious belly, so I get no sympathy in bathroom lines or help with my luggage.
When I first started my job, I thought the travel component would be somewhat exciting. I’d get to explore new cities, see new sites and discover fabulous food. I planned on taking tons of pictures and collecting exotic souvenirs for the heathens. We travelled quite often when I was a kid, and my parents really spoiled us by using even the smallest road trip as an opportunity to explore anything and everything off the beaten path. I thought I’d find a way to at least experience something unique on my trips, even if it was just eating at some fabulous hole-in-the-wall restaurant.
I obviously did not grasp the “work” concept of a business trip; I’m often lucky to see anything but the airport, my hotel room and whatever conference venue I’m there to work. I usually end up eating at only the restaurants within walking distance to my hotel (rental cars are a luxury I don’t have), and souvenirs consist of whatever I can hunt down in the airport gift shop.
So, I’m headed back home tomorrow, where I will kiss my boys, relish in the comfort of my house and sleep in my own bed. Let me tell you, after five days on the road, that sounds better than a double margarita.
But, I’d better hit the airport gift shop first.