Over the weekend I travelled to Nashville with my 7 bestie college friends for our annual girls' weekend. Our 14 prior trips have included: a float trip on the Huzzah River, a float trip on the Black River, a float trip on the Meramec River, a float trip on the Courtois River, a float trip on the Current River and a float trip on the Little Niangua River.
So we were all real happy that this time everyone had enough money to avoid sleeping on the dirt.
And y'all know how I hate to toot my own horn, but I will say that staying out until 3:00am has pretty much been the most difficult thing anyone has ever had to do ever. Ever.
At first I welcomed the overwhelming amount of attention I received. Taking my pregnant belly into each bar was like throwing a ball of yarn into a box full of kittens. The bands were dedicating songs to me, strangers were offering me their bar stools, bartenders couldn't fetch me ice water fast enough. But you know how kittens are. Cute at first, then annoying, then you just want to kick their drunk little asses.
Everyone wanted a piece of the belly and seemed delighted to be the first to inform me I was pregnant. Something I was more than well aware of, considering that at one point I accidentally peed my pants. A phase I thought I was out of since I stopped taking Pilate's.
We were walking around looking for a bathroom 4-EVA, and every bar had a huge line. And you know how it is being pregnant... one minute you're eating a tall stack of pancakes and the next there's pee trickling down your leg.
Luckily I was wearing a dress. But in a bar somewhere on 4th Street there's a pair of size 8 Hanes Her Ways buried deep in the stall trash.
All in all everyone had an awesome weekend. Except Nick, who was glassy eyed and haggard when our party van pulled into my driveway. I'm hoping that him experiencing the challenges of 72 hours alone with two little kids will result in a pay raise for me.