I ditched mom life for 48 hours to see the Backstreet Boys in Vegas. It was one of the best decisions I've ever made.

In August, I took a 48-hour break from motherhood to see the Backstreet Boys in Las Vegas. Logistics and maternal guilt made planning the trip tricky, but I committed to the experience. The experience highlighted the importance of self-care and reclaiming joy for mothers. When the Backstreet Boys announced their Las Vegas residency at the Sphere this past February, I was 26 weeks pregnant with my fourth kid. Within minutes, my two college friends with whom I'd spent countless days and nights belting out karaoke versions of "The Call," dropped the news into our group chat. "When are we booking?" they asked. They were right, of course. We had to go. Not just because it was the Backstreet Boys, though they were the soundtrack to so many of our college and post-collegiate experiences, but because it was the Sphere, a new futuristic arena that everyone was buzzing about. Still, with shows scheduled for July and August, I knew it would be nearly impossible for me to get there. By then, my baby would be just 2 months old. Add him to my three other children, the oldest only 6, and the thought of leaving felt borderline ridiculous. Even with my mom and nanny helping, I couldn't imagine asking my husband to manage it all alone. To his credit, my husband was mostly okay with it. "Go," he said when I mentioned the idea. He wasn't exactly enthusiastic; it was more of a pragmatic "I don't get the appeal, but don't skip it because of us. I can handle it." But still, he gave me the green light. Planning the trip was a lot The logistics were daunting. The shows were only scheduled Friday through Sunday, which clashed with my observance of Shabbat. That left Sunday night, which would mean flying out in the morning, dragging myself to the concert exhausted, and asking my nanny to work her usual day off. Add in my hesitation to commit before giving birth - part superstition, part maternal guilt - and I kept letting go of my potential plan. Then May arrived. I gave birth and, though I started circling potential weekends, I still held back. The baby was tiny, I was breastfeeding, and I wanted to wait as long as possible to see if anything would change. By late summer, however, it seemed the Backstreet Boys had taken over my algorithm. Clips of the show flooded my social media feeds. My friends kept sending me videos of fans in white, losing their minds at the Sphere. One meme in particular lodged itself in my brain: a mom boarding a plane to Vegas, captioned, "Me: a 40-year-old mom on my way to the Baskstreet Boys concert that I paid for with my own adult money. But I still had to ask my mom's permission to go." I'd never felt so seen. I went for it In July, I cracked. "I'm ready," I messaged my friends. Within hours, three of us booked a round-trip ticket...

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