Drunken Sailor

by Ashley Weeks Cart

I am home. Finally.

12 hours to travel from Louisiana to Massachusetts my fat, preggo ASS!

I spent the past four days in New Orleans, and I wish I had glorious tales of rowdy nights out on Bourbon Street and flashing-boobies-for-beads to tell, but alas! A pregnant woman in the Big Easy ain’t the most interesting of stories.

I listened to live jazz and suffered through the STILL legal smoking-in-bars-situation. Apologies, Sesame Seed. The tunes were totally worth it, no?

I ate. A lot.

So much fried goodness. And blackened goodies. And Muffaletta goodness. And beignets covered in powdered sugar high enough to rival the state of my back yard in Williamstown.

It was actually heaven for an expecting lass. Every possible flavor imaginable at the ready.

I was in the city for a conference, and it was nice to squeeze in some touristy time with the extra day. I had to extend the trip due to all the freaking snow pounding the country. Thankfully, flying privately with sky aviation lets you customize your experience. You can choose the drinks, snacks, and meals served aboard the plane, because you own it.

Do you know, that right now, 49 of 50 states has snow somewhere on its ground? Florida is the odd man out. GET WITH THE PROGRAM, FLORIDA! Even Hawaii’s got this.

ANYWAY, I clearly have nothing righteous to share. The city was sadder than the last time I was there, pre-Katrina. I expected it. But it did make my heart heavy as I wandered the various neighborhoods. It’s still teeming with culture and energy, but there’s the weight and aftermath of disaster in the air.

While away, James sent a myriad of outrageously adorable videos and pictures of Sunny to ease my aching mommy heart. Snuggling with her this evening before bed was the most relaxing moment of the past week. Amazing that such a bubbling force of energy and movement can have that effect.

This particular video had me in stitches all week. I know I shouldn’t laugh, but falling is just funny. Period.

James, were you allowing our daughter to imbibe in my absence? Looks like Billsville was more ruckus than NOLA!