Chica-a-go-go

Other than the treacherous, death-defying freeways and the smell of poop on a particular stretch of the 55, Chicago is a lovely entertaining city. We saw a motorcyclist stand up on his seat while driving 50 miles an hour. Babydaddy sneaked a peek up the skirt of a giant statue of Marilyn Monroe. I dorked out at Oz Park, which featured statues of the so-called heroes from the Wizard of Oz -complete with Dorothy's ruby slippers!

The food was a second trimester dream-come-true. We ate delicious deep dish pizza from Giordano's -which gave me wicked heartburn thanks to our topping choice of "fresh garlic". I had the world's best coleslaw at Smoke Daddy's -although I took one bite of my pulled chicken sandwich and found myself full. We had hotdogs and cheese fries at The Wiener's Circle, the thought of which still makes me queasy. And Babydaddy's friend took us for sushi at his "first date" hotspot, Kin. Sure, the roof had caved in only months earlier, but it was BYOB, which suited the fellas perfectly. This lead to the one and only time I drove on the Chicago freeways; I'm still alive to blog this, so my time behind the wheel was a success!



Visiting every museum possible was my number one priority on this babymoon -besides petting goats in every state- so we made use of the City Pass and spent time wandering around the Shedd Aquarium, the Field Museum, the Adler Planetarium and the Museum of Science and Industry. We also visited the tallest building or structure or something in the world or North America or something; Willis Tower. Formerly named for Sears, this building is 103 stories of sheer elegance. Or something. 


Once we got to the top of the tower, after a nauseatingly long elevator ride, we snapped photos of Chicago from every angle. I started feeling a little off...nauseated, unbalanced...after we made our way around the entire tower and braved THE LEDGE. What's THE LEDGE, you ask? It's like a little solarium attached to the tower, 103 stories above street level, with a floor of GLASS. I backed out on THE LEDGE, imagining all the while the "BEEP BEEP BEEP" of a large truck in reverse. I gripped Babydaddy's arm and faked a big smile for the staff person who took a photo before I retreated to the safety of opaque ground. 


Exiting the building, we purchased the photos, partly to scare my mom -who predictably exclaimed "my grandbaby!" when she saw the risk we took with our unborn's life- and partly because we realized it was our anniversary and the date was printed on the photo. Nothing says "I love you" like standing on glass a mile above the ground. 

Coco Loves Goats

Babydaddy is perplexed by my fascination with goats. As a five year-old, I was attacked by a goat named Nanny at my Aunty Joyce and Uncle Edwin's hobby farm. It chased me onto the top of my mom's Cougar, rammed me with its horns and after I finally escaped to safety, destroyed my little sister's bottle. Still, despite this trauma, I love goats. Goats are funny, cute, smart and naughty. I have a loose goal of petting goats everywhere I visit. I've pet goats in Winnipeg, Brandon, Stonewall, Vancouver Island, Minneapolis, Shakopee, Wisconsin Dells and Amsterdam. I have every intention of petting a goat in Chicago. Just try and stop me, Babydaddy! Maybe once we have a kid (no pun intended), it will irritate him slightly less...

 Minnesota Renaissance Festival

True Love at Wisconsin Dells

Renaissance Magic!

The  Minnesota Renaissance Festival was everything I had hoped it would be. We saw women dressed as unicorns, a joust featuring a knight who looked exactly like a dude from Lost, brilliant costumes and an immersive setting that brought me back to the Elizabethan era. It also made me infinitely happy to be alive now...with the dusty roads and lack of plumbing, I would be the worst peasant ever. Every time I had to use the "privy", which was often as Baby pushes on my bladder constantly, the stank of the waste of thousands of patrons overwhelmed my senses and doubled me over with nausea. By the end of the day, Babydaddy and I were caked with dust and horse poop.

The people were friendly and the number of people who maintained their Minnesotan-laced British accents and 17th century personas was impressive. A boisterous fellow in a costume told Babydaddy and I to "Go forth and multiply...but I see you've already done that!" We ate pickles and fudge, beer and cheese soup and drank "Sir" Arnold Palmers. Babydaddy bought me a flower garland for my hair. We both tried out the archery and I was impressed with Babydaddy's ability to hit the target -we'd be eating good in the 1600s!

The one Renaissance-related goal we didn't achieve was the eating of a turkey leg, Henry the Eighth-style. Those legs looked gross and bloody and stringy. Babydaddy agreed. Instead of eating a turkey leg, I took a photo of a man named Tim, from Oakdale, Minnesota, eating a turkey leg on my behalf. Good as!

I'd go back to the Festival a thousand times over. Next time with little monkey in tow. Huzzah!

Tim from Oakdale, MN

At Broomhilda's

Babydaddy the Archer

Babymoon

Tomorrow Babydaddy and I leave on our long-awaited Babymoon! A babymoon, like its sister, the honeymoon, is a romantic getaway for a couple. Instead of celebrating a marriage, however, a babymoon is a cruel reminder that we might never get to travel alone ever again. I'm exaggerating, of course. There are kennels where you can board your kids during a vacation, right?

The babymoon involves a roadtrip with stops in Minneapolis, Wisconsin Dells and finally, Chicago. Along the way, we'll be knocking a big item off my informal bucket list; visiting a Renaissance Fair. I'm ridiculously excited to be stepping back in time to witness a joust, admire the period costumes and eat a turkey leg, Henry VIII style. It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but I like my tea nerdy, son!

In Chicago, we have a loosey-goose itinerary of museum-hopping, visiting and eating -I want to work my way through every Chicago delicacy, be it deep dish pizza or hot dogs. My favourite Chicagoan sent me links to her favourite restaurants which has acted like some sort of food porn for this usually-not-hungry pregger-MacGregor. I'm starving.

My biggest concern centres around the driving and my frequent and urgent need to piddle. Babydaddy, in all seriousness, suggested I wear an adult diaper. Because peeing myself in the car is exactly how I want to spend my romantic holiday! At least he cares about my urinary needs...right?

I'll be blogging when I can throughout the trip, but speaking of urination, I have to pee. And how!