It’s funny to me how many people proclaimed that I was “brave” or “ambitious” to be camping with a newborn.
Maybe a little… but really, from what I’ve observed, I’d venture a guess that camping with a toddler or even a young child is a lot more ambitious. I mean, if I put Molly in her little rocker and turned my back for a second, I knew she’d still be sitting in that same rocker. Do the same thing with a 2-year-old, and she’d more than likely be riding a bear piggyback or something.
In other words, newborns are low maintenance. On our camping trip, she did the same things that she does at home – eat. sleep. poop. Yes, waking up to nurse in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night is not as comfy as doing the same in my own home, but still, we were in our camper. It’s not like we were tent camping.
It was very nice and relaxing, and we’re already making plans to go again and make good use of our new camper that we just purchased this year.
Here’s something I didn’t realize about our little camping excursion: one year ago last weekend, I was camping. I was also in the midst of a miscarriage. Sometimes I feel bad because I usually reference the miscarriage of the twins more often, and it almost seems like Baby Toast (who we lost on July 8th) is “forgotten about.” But how could I forget? This is a line from my post last year, the one entitled “camping and miscarriage are not mutually enjoyable”
It’s still possible to have a baby of our own to take camping next year. Far-fetched, perhaps, but possible.
I seriously want to go back in time and hug myself. I want to tell this sad, past version of myself that one year can make all the difference, and that camping will never be the same again. Then I want to show her (me) these pictures and say, “See? It all works out in the end.”
