The Parent Trip: Tracy and Rich Hildebrand of Wayne

THE PARENTS: Tracy Hildebrand, 34, and Rich Hildebrand, 36, of Wayne

THE KIDS: Nathalie Jane, 3; Danielle Marie, born October 2, 2015

They might have met in Cuba, during the Semester at Sea program, when Fidel Castro spoke to their group of 800 students from all over the United States. They might have crossed paths later in that trip, on the teeming streets of India.

Or they might have met closer to home - in Pittsburgh, where Tracy was finishing her senior year at the University of Pittsburgh, and Rich, who knew her roommate, stopped by for a visit. But Tracy wasn't in the apartment that day.

"We were on the same voyage, but we didn't really know or meet each other," Tracy says, until a year after the Semester at Sea experience. And when they did, "It was so easy to talk to him. It was like I'd known Rich forever."

After a year of dating - Tracy had graduated and was back home with her parents in Philadelphia, while Rich was living and working in Wilmington - they moved together to an apartment in Wayne.

For Rich, that was the first test. "The initial blending of two people's things and space was . . . a definite adjustment," he recalls. The next hurdle involved traveling together - a two-week trip to Europe, with trains to catch and language barriers to negotiate. But they were in sync, the kind of travelers who liked to chat with locals in fractured French or Spanish, who preferred to catch highlights at the Louvre rather than spend all day ogling every piece of art.

Friends and family assumed Rich would propose on their next trip, to Machu Picchu, in 2008. But Tracy knew better: "I figured he wouldn't carry a ring to Peru." Besides, there was no rush; they were building careers and feeding a mutual yen for travel. "Marriage was not something I took lightly," Rich says. He'd told Tracy, "When I propose, I'm in it for everything: kids, health, happiness, sickness, the long haul."

In April 2009, just before the two left for dinner at their favorite Wayne restaurant, they toasted one another with champagne. But at the table, Rich toasted again, then pointed to a small box.

Their wedding, a year later, was another adventure: 75 friends and relatives joined them in Puerto Rico, near the rain forest. The rehearsal dinner featured a pig roast on the beach. Sun shone on their ceremony, in defiance of hurricane season.

They wanted children - maybe two, maybe three - but the world kept calling. A trip to Africa was next, with a safari, a trek up Kilimanjaro, and a balloon ride at sunrise over the Serengeti.

The Christmas after that trip, Tracy and her sisters-in-law found some unexpected stocking-stuffers, courtesy of Tracy's mom; she'd tucked pregnancy tests among the other holiday treats. A few months later, Tracy and Rich squinted at one of the sticks - "Is that a line? It's definitely a line" - and announced their news, on St. Patrick's Day, to Tracy's family.

It was an easy pregnancy, and Tracy assumed her delivery would be equally smooth. She didn't plan on an induction - her membranes had ruptured prematurely - or the contraction monitors, the epidural, the fever she spiked at 1 a.m. or the caesarean that eventually brought Nathalie into the world.

Rich was alarmed to see a bump on the baby's skull the size of an orange, caused by the way she'd been wedged in Tracy's pelvis. "We were naive, first-time parents. I thought she had a tumor," Tracy says. But within an hour, the bump was gone, Nathalie was nursing, and the three were celebrating Thanksgiving in the hospital.

They figured the second baby would also be easy to conceive. But after a year of trying and a battery of tests at a fertility clinic, a doctor delivered grim news: one hormone level was off the charts; perhaps it was time to think about IVF.

"It was Christmas Eve," Tracy remembers, "and the nurse had this look on her face like, 'Your puppy just died.' "

But by mid-January, she was pregnant, without a technological assist. She felt healthy and strong, as she had with Nathalie, and she continued to do yoga three times a week. But she'd learned from her first experience. This time, she would be more prepared for labor and birth. This time, she would be her own advocate.

She switched to a midwife, hired a doula, and researched how to have a successful vaginal birth after a caesarean. She kick-started labor at home with a castor-oil-laced milk shake; by the time she arrived at the hospital, she was nearly ready to push.

Rich recalls seeing the baby's head move, as though she wanted to scope out her surroundings, even before her body emerged. And Tracy remembers the relieved triumph of pushing her out. "All the hard work I'd put into it was finally realized. I called it my redemption birth."

Having two kids, they say, feels exponentially harder than one. Tracy might be snuggling with Nathalie, hearing about her day, when Rich comes in to say, "We need to switch. Danielle needs you." Or she might finally settle the baby at 1 a.m., only to hear Nathalie wail that she's wet her bed. Some moments, all she can do is laugh: "This is our life. This is what we signed up for."

In the meantime, they're planning a trip to North Carolina for the fall. Nathalie's already been to France, St. Martin, and Orlando; they remember her look of amazement when they rode Disney's "It's a Small World."

Tracy and Rich want their daughters to know it's also a big one: gazelles and wildebeest on the Serengeti, a cozy bed-and-breakfast in Bordeaux. They want the girls to understand what they learned at Machu Picchu, after hiking 25 miles over four days to arrive at the 15th-century Inca site at sunrise, before the tourist buses rumbled in.

"For me, the end was great," Rich says. "But the journey along that trail was fantastic."

If you've become a parent - for the first, second or fifth time - within the last six months, e-mail us why we should feature your story: parents@phillynews.com. Giving birth, adopting, or becoming a stepparent or guardian all count. Unfortunately, we can't respond individually to all submissions. If your story is chosen, you will be contacted.