An adventure!

We went camping! A few weeks ago! I love camping, truly, I do. However I haven't attempted it in some time. Especially since my figure has taken on the description of "spherical." But how hard could it be? Marc had recently bought a new thermarest which was approximately 2mm thicker than my OLD thermarest which in his mind meant a restful nights sleep and in my mind meant that the bump I tried to avoid but invariably found its way under my delicate back during the course of the night might be marginally dulled. If I could drink. Which I cannot. But! Onward!

Most of my friends have reservations about my camping acumen and wonder if Marc somehow is forcing me into these particular activities. I don't know, perhaps my dependency on hot rollers, fake eyelashes and my silk housecoat makes them unconvinced that a city girl like me could possibly rough it. "Of COURSE I love it, darlings!" I say as I powder my decolletage. But it's true, I do. I was hesitant this time around, however, given the pregnancy bit. But you know, it won't be just the two of us much longer and so I thought, "Hang it all...even if I don't sleep for two nights, this is valuable togetherness time!"

We drove up to Yosemite Valley in what felt like newly-wedded bliss. The weather was beautiful, we only took the wrong road once and we arrived at camp well before dark. As we checked into the campsite, the very well meaning camp hosts said, "Please be sure to remove everything from your cars at night as we've had several bear break-ins. One just last night!" Marc smiled and nodded. My mind heard, "BEAR! BEAR! BEAR! BEAR! BEAR! IMMINENT DANGER! MURDER! DEATH!" I turned to Marc, plucking at his sleeve and whimpered, "Are we going to be MAULED this weekend?" And then I immediately broke out into panic-induced hives. You see, for all of the joking I do about wanting to SEE a bear, I really only want to participate in that activity if they are on the other side of a set of bars. And perhaps even some bullet proof glass. My communing with nature is very specific and organized.

But here we were in a campground that even had a bathroom. I like bathrooms! Marc set up the tent on the flattest stretch of earth he could find and I stood by with a large stick to be sure he wasn't attacked from behind by anything large and furry. This made me feel better but had him snorting into the nylon. We wandered around after that for a bit, held hands, had some dinner and then came back to camp where I made Marc escort me to the bathroom and wait outside in the event that the bears liked whatever pregnant hormone twinged scent I was emanating and decided to ferry me off into the outback for a late night snack. This wasn't the particular brand of togetherness he was looking for, but I told him to suck it.

Then it came time to sleep, so I settled into my bag on my 5mm thick thermarest that was also as wide as my hips and proceeded to try to negotiate the bump that indeed was present under my lower back all while Marc drifted off into slumber land as soon as his head hit the pillow. People often ask me, "Why? Why would you sleep on the ground like that when there are perfectly good hotels nearby?" And I really don't have an answer for them other than, "It's part of the experience." "Of what? Having no sleep and an aching body the next day?" In my 20's I would have said something inarguable like, "Psh!" and moved on to the next subject. On this particular night while I tossed and turned and consistently fell OFF of my thermarest and into the gap between Marc and me, I wondered if the Ahwahnee Hotel had late check-in and how far of a walk it would be.

But then I thought of the bears. The bears that were likely lurking along the perimeter of the camp thinking, "Which of these easily clawed through tents should I go for this evening?" And then you wonder what jackass decided that nylon was a great material to make a shelter out of and then your mind just spins and spins and spins at which point you really have to go to the bathroom but you've decided to hold it until dawn as being mutilated on the way to the loo in the middle of the night isn't at all dignified. So you lay on your thin mattress very quietly until you're just about to drift off but are startled awake by a noise from OUTSIDE, but realize it was just the wind. This wakes up Marc who is all, "What? Where? You still up?" and then looks at me like, Perhaps we should make good of this moment, us both being awake! Let's have a party! But that's the last thing on your mind and so you go back to the spinning mind and the sore body and somewhere just before dawn, you fall into a fitful sleep which lasts for about two hours.

This is what I consider a good night!

But then that morning Marc made me breakfast and coffee and broke down the tent and let me sit in the sun while he cleaned up everything and only made me roll up the stupid thermarests which should come in a pregnancy size - meaning next time we're hauling an air mattress in with us. And then we took a long hike which ended some eleventeen million miles later at the top of Nevada Falls where we sat for a very long time on a warm rock, eating lunch and feeling pretty good about ourselves for having slogged all of that way without even whining once.

And I finally had a better answer when that following week as I stretched and tried to work out the kinks in my back as to why I subjected myself to such discomfort and pain. Because I get to spend time with my husband who considers sleeping on the ground preferable to a weekend at the Ritz. And because by doing so I'm rewarded with a happy spouse AND get to see things that not everyone is privy to. Though I have to say, that if we came with a thicker mattress and a maul proof tent, I might be more filled with glee at the prospect. I'm sure you can buy one of those, right?