A.R. Geiger

Back when I was pregnant with Adam, my dad took myself and two of my sisters to New York City to see a Broadway play.

Seven months, by the way. I was seven months pregnant.

We had a blast. I walked all over downtown Manhattan. Very, very slowly.

I was younger then. More spry. More energetic.

I am much less energetic these days.

But when I started approaching seven months this time around, I managed to muster up the energy for a proper baby moon with my husband.

Sort of a proper baby moon. We brought our three year old with us, which I think is a big NO for most people? For us, it was obviously a no-brainer. We were going on a train trip across the United States, after all. Can you really go on a train trip across the United States and NOT bring a three year old boy with you?

I think not.

Guys. We had a BLAST.

The train trip was from Denver, Colorado to Portland, Oregon, mostly because Portland was west – a direction we haven’t roadtripped together yet – and because it was a good, long distance to really give us a taste of train travel.

Yup. 55 hours there, 55 hours back.

The day before we left, I got told – in the friendliest possible way – by a guy who worked at my building that it was gonna be a nightmare. Trapped on a train for 55 hours with a three year old with only occasional ten minute fresh air breaks? He did NOT think it sounded like a vacation.

Y’all. It was bliss. Pure, utter bliss.

We read books, I stitched, Adam did stickers in his sticker book and learned to play cards with dad. We also played hours of ‘I spy with my widdle eye’ as we watched the American West roll by. There was no agenda, no rush to be anywhere, no hurry. Just us in our coach seats (we are not bougie enough for a roomette, y’all) watching the world pass by.

It was everything I needed.

I read an entire biography of Theodore Roosevelt and several of Shakespeare’s plays.

Also many, many Mercy Watson books. Those ones I read aloud to Adam.

By the time we reached Portland, we were very ready for three days in a hotel with hot water and real beds. And by the time we left Portland, we were very ready to be back on the train. It was glorious timing, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.

I’ll tell you about Portland another time. And about all the books I bought there.

They have a bookstore there that dreams are made of.

Also, I’ll have to find a minute to tell you about the freight train that derailed and nearly got us stuck in Reno, Nevada.

But that’s another blog post.