Oh, Long Island.

So, I am going to this big family wedding in about three days. The youngest son of my father's younger brother is getting married, and it's a whole big to-do and the whole fan-damily is going to be there.

I have been incredibly uncomfortable contemplating said upcoming event. Well, events, really, because in addition to the wedding there's a rehearsal dinner and a Sunday brunch that I am compelled to attend. It's really more like a family reunion than a wedding.

And my discomfort could have come from many sources. One, this will be G's first vacation/plane ride. She's three. She's not potty trained yet. She hates loud noises, is wary of new things, and is prone to temper tantrums in the late afternoons and early evenings because she refuses to nap. All of these factors tell me that this "vacation" is not going to be very "vacation-esque."

I am also faced with the prospect of sharing a single double-bed hotel room with my parents and my kid for six days, five nights because I can't afford my own room and the 'rents certainly can't afford a suite of any description.

Shoot me now. Seriously. It will be a mercy killing.

And then it could also be because this branch of the family and I, we don't get along at that well. I can be pleasant as the next person, but there's only so many veiled and unveiled racist statements, blatantly insensitive remarks about people that don't have money and generally undeserved snobbery I can take before I explode.

I may be a snob, but at least I'm gracious about it, and I have the sense to only be snobby about the things that I can back up. Like my impeccable taste in shoes, cheese, and wine.

But actually, my dread of this trip stems primarily from none of these things.

What it comes to is this: the last time I was on Long Island, G was with me. She was probably about 64 total cells just implanting in my uterus, but she was there.

Because I stopped on Long Island for a few days on the way home from that fateful trip to London.

I was so happy. I was so secure. I was getting text messages hourly. I carried around a piece of the parting gift he gave me, so that I could always put a hand on it. I was so happy.

Now what am I?