the camping trip that never was

First I baulked at the five-hour drive to King’s Canyon, so we compromised on Tuolomne Meadows; then Bryan realized he couldn’t really spare a day from work, so we compromised again on Bullfrog Pond. We made it as far as REI – Jeremy was inside buying camp cookware, and I was sitting in the car in the hot sun – when I realized the cramps were actually getting worse, and I nearly passed out from the pain.

I thought for a little while that I was losing the baby. There aren’t many circumstances under which projectile vomiting at the cute midwife on whom you have a fierce crush, and being diagnosed with gastroenteritis, come as a great relief; but having suspected you were in pre-term labour definitely qualifies as one. I was pretty acutely uncomfortably but Julia was perfectly happy, so they kicked me out of hospital and I went to sleep for 24 hours, waking only to ingest clear liquids and applesauce.

Ian likes to call his gut his “food baby”; at about midnight last night I was delivered of mine, and matters improved greatly. Today I did shag-all but attend to some neglected paperwork. We ventured out at six for sushi at Yo’s and pear sorbet from Mitchell’s, then Claire and I had a warm bath and she washed my hair.

Maybe we’ll go camping next weekend.

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