I'm not much of a planner. I'm getting a little better now that I'm going to be partially responsible for setting the moral and physical framework for another human life, but still...baby steps. So to really dive into this planning business, a couple months ago I booked a getaway for last weekend to scenic Galena, Illinois for me and my baby daddy.
For most women, I don't think this is a big job. Small town tucked away in a snowy-hilled part of Illinois she didn't know existed? Check. Intimate room with fireplace and whirlpool tub? Check. Friendly inn keeper? Check. I was looking for all those things, plus a couple more. For example, staying in a room called "Loves First Touch" was a no no. Number 1, I was booking the room at work so I refused to say "yes, we'd like Loves First Touch please" and number 2, I have a pineapple sized bump in my belly and loves first touch just seemed like a lie. I compromised and put us in the Grand Romance Room which I tried to discreetly book in my office as "Sure, we'll take the GraRomsRoom please."
Before you judge me, please note this was my first time staying in a B&B and I've seen a lot of movies that end with divorce and severed heads at B&Bs. I needed to get it right.
At first I was set on finding an inn sans wall-to-wall dead people portraits but as it turns out they don't make B&Bs like that anywhere in the United States, so we settled on a night of peaceful slumber with Ulysses S. Grant and Abe Lincoln look-alikes watching from above.
It was also really difficult tracking down a room that wasn't plastered with an s-load of giant floral print wallpaper and matching comforters. One of my old babysitters had a room she'd make us take naps in that had all of these features plus a bunch of creepy porcelain dolls and smelled like oatmeal. My sister and I not ONCE shut our eyes in that room.