My outdoorsy husband didn't want to take a baby and a toddler camping. I insisted — and regretted it by 2 a.m.

The first sign that our family camping trip was a bad idea was that my husband and I were fighting.

I disagreed. I'd only discovered a love for the outdoors as an adult, but I had a vision: our family playing in the water, me lounging by the lake in my sundress while the 13-month-old napped.

In truth, I had mid-summer anxiety and was desperate. Born in East Africa, I hated Minnesota winters. So I was frantic when I realized it was July and we hadn't moved beyond a 10-mile radius of our home. I wanted our family to make memories in the woods, and I wanted it now.

Finally, he consented. He booked two nights in a state forest at the edge of the Boundary Waters, a massive forest on the border of Minnesota and Canada.

The next sign of trouble: we weren't prepared. With three days to go before we left, we dashed around the city for essentials in 90-degree weather: a clunky fan from Cabela's and a screen shelter from the RV store (that turned out to be gazebo-sized and had to be replaced). I balked at the $100 camping chair but added it to the cart anyway. Finding the right tent was a challenge. We had a two-person backpacking tent from life before kids. A no-go. Luckily, a friend lent us his tent. We packed enough for two weeks, and by the miracle of extra daylight, we were ready to go by Friday.

At 2 a.m., we woke to the kids' meltdown. The bites were too itchy. The tent was too warm. The sheets irritating. I rubbed more balm. For an hour, she wailed as I hunted for stronger and stronger concoctions that weren't locked up in the car to prevent bears from wandering over.

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The next morning, our girl was keener to jump into the lake than to process how she felt. The cool water was both delightful and soothing. In good spirits, she made friends with the boulder by our campsite.

Success, I thought, as I lounged at base while the baby napped in her Pack 'n Play. The park had running water, so at dinnertime, I suggested a cool shower to help the kids get ready for bed. The heat clung to our bodies, and I thought a rinse-off would help with sleep. We were nearly scalded. The tap had two settings: off or lava.

Within minutes, the bites flared up again. As she wailed, I looked into her bloodshot and unhappy eyes. I thought of spending another night in the cramped tent with paper-mache zippers while the mosquitoes hovered outside. I thought of another 3 a.m. therapy session to soothe my child. I thought of the rock that had lodged itself against my thigh as I slid around our 1-inch sleeping pads while tending to both kids. We were miserable.

While I fed the kids yogurt bowls, my husband quickly stuffed everything into our car. Driving home with the kids soundly asleep, I looked out at the forest and the setting sun. A black bear poked its head up as we drove through empty roads. It was my first sighting.

"I feel like we've been gone for a week," my husband remarked as we collapsed on the Adirondack chairs on our front porch.