The Suburban Mom or VIP Pretty Woman?

At eight months pregnant, a last minute cross-country trip to a Hollywood Premiere for the Lion King in 3D was not expected, yet, when the invitation arrived I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. And as I sit here in the lap of luxury soaking in the royal treatment, I can hardly believe I hesitated for even a moment.

The morning started off typical enough, getting the family up and off for my daughter’s first day of school (something this suburban mom wasn’t about to miss, even for Hollywood). But after the perfect outfit, lots of pictures and dropping off my excited preschooler, that’s where suburban life ended and VIP began.

After a five-hour flight, which I am happy to report wasn’t much more uncomfortable than flying non-prego, I arrived safe and sound at LAX. As I deplaned, I nervously wondered briefly about finding my ride, but as I rounded the corner to baggage claim, nerves gave way to a giggle as I recognized my name on a sign held by a driver in a sea of black suits waiting their passengers. Well, it was nearly my name. Apparently having four names is so bizarre that someone decided I must have made a mistake, so they squished my madden and last name together to create a new last name. But I didn’t care, I had a driver! Perhaps some might shrug this off as no big deal, but in suburbia we don’t have our own drivers (unless we are under the age of 16, and then the driver is called mom), and I was thrilled to be so important (at least in my mind).

As we passed Rodeo Drive and pulled up to the Beverly Wilshire, I was no longer The Suburban Mom. In my mind I was Pretty Woman, without the whole hooker thing, of course.

“Checking into the Beverly Wilshire, m’am?”

“Why yes I am.”

After checking in, the desk clerk walked me to the elevator. (I allowed him to do so resisting the urge to tell him that this girl of the ’80s needed no help in finding the famous elevators.) As the beautiful doors opened, he instructed me to get off on the second floor and wished me a pleasant stay.

Inside the elevator, I bit my tongue deciding that the elderly lady in the elevator with me probably not find me funny if I broke out my best Julia impersonation, “Oh honey you know what’s happened I got a runner in my pantyhose, I’m not wearing pantyhose.”

Suddenly I was aware that my fellow passenger was getting off the elevator, on the fifth floor. I missed my floor. Doh.

Exhausted from my travels and adventure so far, I debated room service for dinner. But fellow traveler and blogger Lee, from My Sentiment ExactLee, informed me that she ate lunch next to Bruce Willis in the hotel restaurant, so I headed down to dine with fingers crossed for my own celeb sighting. The closest thing I spotted was a familiar shinny black piano in the back of the restaurant.

While I haven’t spotted anyone famous yet, I continue to be star struck enough my my hotel. Having a lazy morning to myself in my hotel room, I debated a bubble bath, but decided against it realizing it wouldn’t be the same without Prince. But I did order room service in my fluffy robe.

It’s nearly time for someone to pinch me… But if I am dreaming, I do hope they will wait until after my red-carpet moment tomorrow.

Off to finish getting ready for the day… I will try to resist quoting Julia as I stroll down Rodeo Drive, “Big mistake. Big. Huge! I have to go shopping now!”