By Andrea Chmelik on October 05, 2012
If you are dreading to read more about constipation, mucous plug and/or vaginal yeast infection - you are in luck! This post is pregnancy unrelated. (If you were, on the other hand, hoping to hear about the topics listed above, do not fear. I am sure I'll get to them sooner or later.)
Now that everybody is happy, let's get to the point. We went camping last weekend (or, as you will soon learn, we attempted to go camping). The whole story started a few weeks ago. Peter told me that a close friend of his, whom he rarely gets to see, was organizing a camping trip, and he really wanted to participate. I gave him my blessing, as every supportive wife should. Another week passed by and Peter started talking about the camping trip in more detail. Listening to more detail (as every supportive wife should), it dawned on me that I am expected to come with. I gasped in horror and whined: "What?! I thought it was a guy only thing!" Peter (seeing what a supportive wife he has) rolled his eyes and uttered something about my enthusiasm to spend time together as a family.
I've been camping maybe 3-4 times in my life. There is a reason why I don't do it. It's a simple one. I don't like it. When I was younger and still cared about other people's opinion, I would go camping just because everyone I hung out with claimed: "Camping is awesome, man, it is the best." So I dragged myself out there and pretended to be psyched about sleeping on the ground, pooping in the bushes and eating crappy canned food, burnt sausages and soggy bread. I pretended I cared about the starry night (that I could very well see from the balcony of my cozy apartment), crackling fire (that I could watch in my fireplace while eating something better than dog food) and the peacefulness of the solitude (I am an extrovert who can be satisfied plentifully with 20 minutes of nothing happening. After 20 minutes, nothing happening equals boredom.). I did this because I wanted to be cool and hip. I am 33 years old now and the list of things I still bother to fake in order to impress is significantly shorter. Camping has been crossed off years ago.
You have to make lots of decisions when you go camping. Here is the dilemma I was pondering - should I bring my padded bra to a place that is dustier than Mars when the temperature is expected to reach 100 degrees? Padded bras create a lot of sweat that they quickly soak up. Camping is nasty enough as it is, do I need to make it worse by wearing a sweaty bra? So I picked a sports bra instead, which of course meant that my flat chest looked even flatter, which is not good considering that the appearance of full cleavage is one of those few things on my list I still bother to fake. This did not put me in a cheerful spirit, in case you were wondering.
It was not the bra choice that put an early end to our camping trip, though. It was my failure to bring my glasses with me. You see, normally I prefer to take my contacts out for the night. For the camping trip, I opted to leave the glasses at home and spend the night in my contacts for a simple reason - if I am woken up in the middle of the night by strange noises I can't identify, I'd rather be able to just open my eyes and see if I am dealing with my husband or an angry bear. I would hate to waste precious seconds of defense planning by searching for glasses first (yes, I am that shortsighted). I don't normally sleep in contacts. The only time I make an exception is on a plane, and that is because nowadays I travel with the kid. When traveling with a kid, one only does things that are a matter of life and death. Taking your contacts out is not a matter of life and death, unless you are camping, in which case it could be, if you find yourself unable to recognize a bear from your husband. I put a lot of thought into this camping trip, as you can see, which is why it pains me so much it all blew up in the end and we had to leave early.
I am not entirely sure what it was. There is a slight chance it was just a strong allergic reaction to camping, but more probable explanation is a combination of dust and sweat mixed with sunscreen, dripping into my eyes all day long. My eyes started hurting a little, then a lot, and by 6-7pm my lids were swollen and the pain got so bad I could not even keep them open. Which made it impossible for me to drive myself home. Which means Peter had to drive me, which of course means his camping adventure with his supportive wife was over. To my defense, we had a fun day, got a good night sleep in a California king size bed, and he knows I owe him a big time. And I tried. I really did.
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