Ever since we’ve been married, my parents have supported the Chaplain and I by keeping the kids so that we can go away by ourselves about once a  year.

Last year at this time, we were spending a week in Portland, Oregon together. In fact, it was the first time since I’d become a mom that I’d spent Mother’s Day away from my kids.

The trip felt like an escape for many reasons. The Chaplain was at a stressful, demanding job. I was eight months pregnant with Seven. We had a busy home life. We were tired and tense.

I’d planned the trip on the back of a trip to Portland I’d done with my dad and siblings in 2014. We’d gone to celebrate my dad’s 60th birthday by climbing Mt. Hood. The week was spent hiking, with the mountain climb in the middle.

Building on that, I hoped to revisit my favorite trails, and try one or two new ones. I also wanted to spend some time in downtown Portland, which we hadn’t had time to do on the 2014 trip. The Chaplain and I both had some ideas and recommendations for places to check out in the city. And I really wanted to see a Pacific Coast sunset.

Our first day, we started off in Portland. We found some food trucks and enjoyed a meal, and made a pilgrimage to Schoolhouse Electric‘s flagship store. We wrapped up our day by driving to the coast. It was reminiscent of Road Trip 2016 with roadside springs where we could refill our water bottles with crystal clear, delicious water.

We spent two nights at the coast. I was tweaking the trip until the last minute and wasn’t sure how long we were going to stay at each place.  In fact, I was still holding out hope for a possible trip to Crater Lake until right before we left, which would have added hours of driving time but with a huge visual payoff.  (We ended up saving it for a future trip.) Since I waited until the last minute to make a decision, I had to book our two nights by the shore at two different places just a minute or two drive apart.The first night was a little motel a few blocks from the sea, the second was a private home. Both were Airbnb finds. It was our first experience with Airbnb and we had no idea what to expect.

Since the first place was a motel room to ourselves and it was rainy, we spent a fair amount of time inside, interspersed with mini adventures around Seaside, OR, as well as some time walking along the coast. We also drove over to nearby Cannon Beach both days we were in town. The private home we stayed at was a little weird for us. The couple who lived there were very nice, but we had to share their bathroom. We also had to walk in across their living room carpet to get to our room every time we came in from the beach and the rain, and there was no doormat. They just told us to wipe our feet on the corner of the rug. I hated to do that. Plus, there was no place to hang wet items in the bedroom, and we always had wet clothes since we kept going out to explore. Staying in a stranger’s house just felt terribly awkward. The things that felt missing or wrong, I would have had no problem asking about at a hotel or motel. Instead, I was embarrassed to complain to our hosts, so I didn’t say anything. Maybe all this just means I’m not a millennial. Or maybe it’s further confirmation that I’m an introvert, as if I needed more proof.The next three days were in Government Camp, OR, near Mt. Hood. We did my favorite trails from the trip a few years before. It was amazing the difference between a trip to the Mountain in early May vs. my previous trip in early June – in May, it was still winter.One of my hopes was to do the Mirror Lake hike, which on a clear day reflects Mt. Hood. On my last trip in 2014, it had been cloudy the day we did the hike and I hoped for another chance to enjoy it.

It turns out, Mirror Lake is an alpine hike in May. The greatest part of it was hiking up a steep trail with 12-18 inches of packed snow winding up a slope. I don’t know if it was extra snow or being eight months pregnant, but the hike was a little terrifying. I felt off balance and it was much more challenging than I remembered it. At the top, the lake was completely covered with ice except for a small, kidney-shaped section that would have been too small to reflect the mountain even if it had been visible, which it wasn’t. Afterwards, we had to turn around and skitter back down over the snowy, humpy trail to the bottom. I was looking forward to seeing Ramona Falls again. Ignoring any nagging thoughts about the washed out bridge at the beginning of the trail (which had still been in place on my last trip) and spring melt, we set off with our hiking poles and appropriate layers.

We had been hiking just long enough by the time we got to the washed out bridge that it seemed somehow wrong to turn back. A young man in a tie-dyed shirt, a beer bottle in his hand and a dog at his side, slung the dog over his shoulder with ease and walked across the river on the fallen logs. The Chaplain walked across the logs with only a little more care.

I think of myself as having terrible proprioception and a tenuous relationship with gravity. Not that gravity would let me float away, but that it would take me down. I straddled the log and scooted across painfully slowly.

I’m not sure if this looks as terrifying as it was.

All I could think about was how I would get back across when we came this way a few hours later. I knew the sun would be melting ice and snow above the clouds, raising the river’s water level while we were finishing our hike to the falls.

Once I finally got across the river (I’m simultaneously sorry and relieved there aren’t any photos of that experience), we started off on the rest of the trail. It was a long haul.

I’d been having practice contractions for weeks by then.  Every time I had one as I hiked, and many times in between, I was imagining what would happen if I went into labor on the trail. Ramona Falls is a seven mile round-trip hike from the trailhead, so there was plenty of time to plan out all the possibilities. Would I know I was in labor for real, or would I talk myself out of it until it was too late and the baby was moments away? All the layers we’d shed on the hike would be perfect for wrapping a new baby. We probably wouldn’t have cell reception out there, so we’d have to hike at least part of the way back. Maybe the Chaplain could cross the river alone and go get help – but that would leave me on the other side of the river with a newborn for quite a while before help arrived. What if there were complications? Would I be able to make it back across that log holding a baby if I had to? Would they airlift us out?We made it to the falls and it was beautiful. The spring melt translated into a rush of water that was just incredible. Our friend with the dog and the beer pointed us toward an alternate route back that changed the scenery for the return. Once we got near the river, though, the trip back was the same way we’d come.

The water was a little higher, but not as much as I’d feared. I scooted across again, terrified as before. Once on the other side, even with a couple of miles left to hike, I knew I had made it. I was exhausted, but had a great sense of accomplishment.

We had been in Government Camp for a couple of days before we saw Mt. Hood, the evening after the day we did our Ramona Falls hike. We were vegging in the cabin we’d rented, in our pajamas. Since we’d hiked a fair bit that day, we’d earned some down time. Then, as the sun was setting, we saw something we hadn’t seen before – clear sunlight slanting through the woods around the cabin and into our windows. We eyed the yellow glow and looked at each other. We got dressed and went for a little walk. Then we hopped in the car and headed for the highway.That night was the only glimpse we got of the Mountain on our trip. It glowed in the sun. There is something so moving about being in the presence of such a majestic sight.Recognize this sign? Quite a difference from our first stop here. If you don’t remember, scroll up, and look for snow.

Our last day, we headed back along the Columbia River Scenic Highway. It is lined with trailheads and accessible waterfalls.

We also hit the 4-mile roundtrip Eagle Creek Trail. The day was rainy, and we came armed with umbrellas and layers. The hike was incredible.

It was was a cold, wet Eden. The steep drop offs and narrow, winding trail along a cliff-face did not disappoint. Just as we neared the end of the trail, pea-sized hail started to fall. What had been accessible trail a few years before in June was flooded in May, and with the hail falling sharply, we turned back without getting a view of the waterfall at the end of the now water-covered trail.

We were able to kill a little more time in Portland before our flight, so we hit another set of food trucks, stopped at Voodoo Doughnut, which was interesting and weird, and visited Powells City of Books (fantastic). We were was able to go see the house where I spent the first four years of my life. It still has the roof my dad put on it.The flight home was a red-eye, and it was horrifying. I couldn’t sleep, and by the time we got back to New York, I was swollen like an overripe melon. I barely fit into my shoes, even with the laces loosened as far as they would go. It took days to deflate.

Just a month later, I was holding Seven in my arms, laying on the sheets I’d gotten at Schoolhouse Electric. Seven’s middle name is a nod to the beautiful mountain he visited just weeks before he joined us.

The times when the Chaplain and I can get away together are so good, especially because they remind us that we have an underlying compatibility that goes beyond our shared family life. We like hanging out together and adventuring with one another. I look forward to the next time we get a chance to do it again.

Did you notice there weren’t a lot of photos of the two of us? That’s the thing about running away together. No one to help us document our trip. And we take terrible selfies.