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Actually, we didn’t intend to do a babymoon.  Or if we did, it would have probably involved camping.  But we wound up in Vegas for a long weekend, and decided — what the hell.  Let’s commit babymoon.

Now, Vegas without alcohol is a bit like playing contact football with both hands tied behind your back, but we managed to make it work.  We had several decent meals (Burger Bar, Hash House A Go Go, Rí Rá) and a couple great ones (Bouchon, Lotus of Siam, the frrrrozen hot chocolate at Serendipity 3).  Along with a few friends, we took in a really good show (Absinthe) that was definitely not age-appropriate for Zoe.  We attended my company’s party at a swanky nightclub and danced a little.  And we walked.  A lot.  Because I need to walk to not feel guilty about all that dessert.

We stayed in a very nice hotel (Mandalay Bay) and we gambled within our means.  We more or less broke even, because Mike is a scientist at blackjack, while I am the reckless fringe whackjob who splits and doubles down on a whim.

We drank coffee.  We napped.  We ate bread.  I took numerous bubble baths.

But most of all, we hugged and held hands and were in love.  We are always in love.  If I told you of some of the endearments we fling around I’d probably make you puke or put you in a diabetic coma or both, so I won’t do that.  Instead I’ll just say: We had a great time, like we always have a great time.  Part of the secret to having a great time is to have great company.  You can get through just about any experience with the right people involved.

And that was our babymoon.  Walking the Strip, eating good food, seeing fun shows, hanging with friends, being in love.  Little darlin’, I hope someday you know how much your parents love each other, and intend to bestow that love unto you.  I hope you don’t need to read this post to know that.