back in business

And, we’re back on the air. Hi guys. I don’t quite know where to begin. It’s been a while since we last spoke. In fact, I’ve been unplugged from the blog-o-verse for two whole weeks. (Please forgive me while I try to catch up on all your posts).

Some things have changed: I mustered the appetite for fish tacos and vegan pizza! Some things have not: the nausea has returned, along with an unsettling predilection for absolutely disgusting food[1].

More on all that to come, plus some Zofran related soapbox-ing and a bit about the mom-a-fication[2] of my identity (we’re getting pretty post-modern around here). In the meantime, our trip to California was pretty fantastic. We hiked, we camped, we snorkeled. We spent a lot of time laughing with good friends. We collected seashells and stones along secluded beaches. One of us thought she might DIE, like ABSOLUTELY PERISH, on the never ending ferry ride from hell that even a doctor approved Dramamine plus sea bands could not vanquish. <collecting myself and returning to not the third person>. It was, in a word, perfect.

We started up in San Francisco and ventured out to Muir Woods, with an easy six miler down to Muir Beach.

The trail down to Muir Beach - about which there is nothing witty to say. We saw a class of five year olds let loose in their barefoot glory to dig and explore and cause trouble and our hearts kind of melted.

The next day we ventured to my new most favorite of spots – Point Reyes. More specifically, the remote Tomales Point Trail, reached after driving through rolling hills of organic dairy farms and pretty cows. The trail itself is all bluffs, views and tule elk.

Tule Elk not pictured. But, uh, Views! Bluffs! Oh my!

Then we met up with a bunch of friends for THE BIG ADVENTURE/most-reckless-of-first-trimester-activities: three days, two nights, backpacking and camping on a remote only-reached-by-nauseating-ferry, not-a-water-source-in-sight, island[3]. With C as my militant water sergeant[4] and an unexpected lull in my nausea, it was a blast. Even if I couldn’t drink the box of sangria that one intrepid friend carried for eight rollicking miles.

If it appears that we pitched our tent on a slant, that is because we pitched our tent on a slant.
It was still beautiful.

All in all: pretty views, good friends, great trip. 

There's just one thing. And for that I'd like to take a moment to thank the well-meaning-liberals of California. Thank you. Thank you for stoking my already aflame pregnancy anxiety. Keep up the good work.

(Guys, I promise you. If this sign is plastered all over every restaurant, gas station, apartment building and ever-loving square inch of sidewalk across the entire state, the gravity of an otherwise important message is lost entirely.)

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[1] Which, not surprisingly, has led to what may appear to the layperson to be the beginning of a “cute little bump.” But I know better – and so does C – whose clinical assessment was more Roll-o-Fat and less Look! A bump! Although he said so very delicately. And for that I will endlessly punish him because this is really not the time for honesty be grateful.

[2] Not to be confused with “La momification.” Thanks, googles.

[3] This one. To be exact.

[4] So. Very. Parched. <smacking lips>.