This past weekend, my husband and I spent a day and two
nights in Manitou Springs, Colorado. We stayed in an old, fully restored hotel
and had a junior suite. The Cliff House
is beautiful, and I definitely recommend it! My mom, God bless her, took care
of the boy so we could celebrate our 12th anniversary.
We decided to do something neither of us has done: drive to
the top of Pikes Peak, one of many fourteeners in Colorado (a fourteener is a
mountain taller than 14,000 feet).
It was a beautiful day and a beautiful drive, and I was
driving. Once we got above treeline, however, my perception started to change.
It looked like we were driving alongside a cliff of rocks on one side and
complete oblivion on the other, with nothing to keep us from driving off the
cliff to our deaths. Observe (sorry about the clunky format, and notice the port-a-potties strategically located just in case you're about to wet your pants haha!):
It’s hard to get across what it looked like, but it doesn't
matter. What happened was that I had a major panic attack. Palms sweated, heart
raced, hands shook, and I wanted to cry. I pulled over. We tried to go on with
my husband driving, but I couldn't shake the feeling no matter how much I used
logic to try and convince myself it was no big deal. We had to turn around,
with my tail tucked in. I already know that when the boy is old enough, we’ll
try it again – even if I have to sit in the back seat blindfolded haha!
Other than that, we had a great time just being and enjoying our married selves. But we missed the boy quite a bit - happy hour was spent scrolling through the past year's photos of him while enjoying a beer before dinner. It's all good.
