Again.
No, the camping trip 4 weeks ago didn't cure me of my need to commune with the great outdoors this summer - though it did cure me of wanting to sleep on the ground the rest of the pregnancy. Himself's work schedule is a mess, so he couldn't get off. Grover was visiting relations in the Great Frozen North, so I took Woodstock and we set off on a 230-mile journey (36.5 miles of it on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere) to join up with The Parentals, my sister/bro-in-law/niece and a couple of other family members for four days of "luxury" camping.
It is "luxury" because I got to sleep in my parents' trailer. Although don't be too jealous - the bed was only slightly softer than the ground, and I did have to share a sleeping space with Woodstock, who would wake up each morning with the sun at 5:45 a.m. and declare, "All done sleeping mommy!" Um, sure. Me too ... I guess. It was also "luxury" because on this annual camping trip (I've gone 25 or so of my 30+ years), we eat like queens - an abudance of food was available at all times of night or day, in addition to the fabulous meals whipped up by The Parentals and my sister.
The only problem was at 36 weeks pregnant I got the a-okay to go from my Midwife only if I promised to not hike or take "long walks that other people would consider hiking" or do too much. The Parentals translated this as, "Sara should do nothing." Aggravation. I felt alternately useless and exhausted. The Parentals waivered between grateful I could come and paranoid that I'd go into labor at 9,000 feet, 2+ hours from the nearest (small) hospital.
On the way down, under strict instructions from The Parentals, I caravanned with my aunt who was also joining the family camping trip in the camping spot across the street. She told me I had to navigate, as she never could remember exactly how to get there. I joked that once we hit the dirt road, you spend the first 20 miles convinced you're on the wrong road (little to no signage) and the last 16 miles or so convinced you've passed the campground because the mileage sign (the ONE mileage sign) is wrong. I will admit, as fiercely independent as I am, I was a little nervous making the return trip today sans an escort - through nearly 40 miles of barren wilderness with no cell phone signal. I could just imagine getting a flat tire, being unable to change it due to my "condition" and having to hike (er, walk) the remaining lonely miles to the nearest town - population a few hundred people - with Woodstock on my back and a 9-month-pregnant belly.
Fortunately, lots of prayers and good fortune abounded and we made it home filthy, safe and only slightly grumpy.
Six hours later, I've unpacked, done three batches of laundry, bathed, gone to the grocery store (clean but unkempt), ordered Chinese food and tried not to think about how exhausted I am after four days of doing nothing but chasing Woodstock and sitting on my tail end.
Four weeks left (approximately), and I think I'm all adventured out.
2 comments:
I think about going camping in the late stages of pregnancy and it sounds terrible. Then I read about you actually doing it and it sounds even worse. I'm sorry, but the fact that you have voluntarily gone camping twice in your third trimester means you are insane. (I mean that in a loving way, of course).
Wow. As in, WOW. I'm glad you survived this late, late pregnancy camping trip! Yeah, at least you were in a trailer, but still! I hear ya on the kids-awake-at-the-crack-of-dawn-while-camping thing. At least when we went for the week in OR this summer, Z was there and was the designated get-up-with-the-twins parent, since, you know...he wasn't pregnant...
Again, Wow! Though that woulda made a GREAT birth story...if you were a tad farther along, that is! In which case I would hope you wouldn't be camping, esp that far from the hospital, haha!
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