Nothing says baby-friendly like a 200-square-foot room furnished in glass and teeming with germs. Yet somehow tagging along on Daddy’s business trip seemed less overwhelming than coping with single-parent duty back home. So for the next 72 hours, you and Mommy are livin’ it up, Dylan McKay styles. Despite her best intentions and a club-sized pack of anti-bacterial wipes, Mommy’s germ-busting mission goes belly up when you beat her to the (*shudder*) remote control. At least she manages to successfully cram your perishable food supply into the refrigerated section of the mini-bar, which, if the limp Snickers bar is any indication, is probably set somewhere between room temperature and Calcutta. Mommy can forget about ordering room service and watching HBO while Daddy hits the town with his colleagues. It’s lights out at 7 pm thanks to the two inches separating your crib from the TV. Once you’re finally asleep, Mommy’s options for in-room entertainment are limited to holing up in the bathroom with the hotel magazine or creeping Facebook under her duvet. At least she won’t be lying when she updates her status with “Having an amaZZZing time in NYC.”
DRINK: The Mini Bar Raid. Bypass the petite vodka bottles and go straight for the Veuve Clicquot and the $15 cashews. This one’s on daddy’s expense account.
As if she doesn’t feel guilty enough when she leaves you for work every day, now Mommy’s got to TCB in a different time zone. After an embarrassing incident at security involving her breast pump, she makes it to her destination and compulsively checks her phone in case of an emergency, spending your university tuition in roaming charges. A day of meetings is followed by a night of client-schmoozery, but all she wants to do is jump on Skype and judge what outfit Daddy’s put you in (please God not that Trish Stratus tracksuit again). When she finally gets back to her room to deflate the Dolly Partons her colleagues have been ogling, it pains her to flush that liquid gold down the drain because anything more than 3oz of breastmilk is on the no-fly list. At the airport, Mommy hits up the duty-free to get Daddy a cheap bottle of scotch, which he’ll need after his foray into single parenthood. Following some light turbulence where she was convinced she was going to die in a fiery crash so she hastily wrote out a will on the back of her boarding pass, Mommy arrives home to find you sound asleep and not missing any limbs. It takes every fiber in Mommy’s being not to wake you. It’s the one time she hopes you won’t sleep through the night.
DRINK: The In-Flight cocktail. 1 oz Skyy vodka, 1 oz crème de cassis, dash of simple syrup, muddled raspberries. Combine with a squeeze of fresh lemon and top with champagne. Garnish with a swizzle stick, cocktail napkin and a child kicking your seat.