I'm in New York at the moment for a work conference. I attend this every November and I always look forward to it. But never quite like I do now, in Year of our Lord Cher Two Thousand and Twenty Five.

Listen. I love my child. I love my child more than you love yours. I'm the best parent on the internet. On the whole entire internet. It's a competition of love. And I won it. (Am I parenting online correctly?)

But I will admit with my entire chest and rock hard ass that oh my god a hotel room to yourself when you have a toddler outranks every Bible miracle.

The one about the loaves and fishes? Trumped by a king-sized bed for one.

That time what's his name did what's that thing with the serpent and stick? Doesn't hold a candle to turndown service when you're used to an entire ocean's worth of battery-powered toys strewn across the living room.

Beating the Russians in hockey? Nowhere near as moving as an uninterrupted night of sleep.

I don't remember if that last one is actually in the Bible. But guess where I can find a Bible to check? IN THE SIDE DRAWER NEXT TO MY BED IN THIS HOTEL ROOM I HAVE TO MYSELF.

Look. Do I miss my child? Yes. Did I cry last night when Skylar sent me a very manipulative picture of our sleeping baby, saying "he's sad because you aren't snuggling him?"

Yup. Actual real tears.

But then you wanna know what I did?

I got out a bottle of melatonin so large TSA made me strip naked and do the Macarena before they'd let me take it through the airport. Then I opened that bottle of melatonin and poured the pills onto the bed in the shape of a giant heart. Then I ate them one-by-one, alternating after each devouring "he loves me" and "he loves me not."

It was the most romantic night of my life.

I slept so well I technically now own the hotel. That's right. I'm a Hilton. Paris is my new sister. (I don't know if this hotel is a Hilton and I'm unwilling to check. It doesn't matter.)

If three ghosts tried to Ebeneezer Scrooge me last night into feeling like a terrible parent for being so happy to have a night away, they never would have been able to wake me.

I've never understood the appeal of an MLM, but I've spent the entire day resisting the urge to tell everyone I've seen about this incredible new product I've recently discovered that will change their life and that product is called "a reservation."

I'm doing everything in my power not to spend every waking second feeling bad about the fact that Skylar is solo parenting the sleep regression that has taken over our lives in recent weeks. The sleep regression, wherein the twenty-one pound illegally cute tyrant who calls all the shots in our lives has decided he will not bestow peace upon us between the hours of 1:00 am and 6:00 am unless he is directly between us on our bed kicking the shit out of both of us and giggling.

My sweet husband hasn't complained once about this. "Don't worry about us!" he has shouted at me. "Have a good time and get some rest!"

And I know he's sincere. But I also know he must be tired. And I do feel terrible about that.

I'll definitely make it up to him.

After I'm done having a hotel room all to myself.

~It Just Gets Stranger