I was tired, cranky and eight months pregnant. And I was in dire need of a break from the gray San Francisco summer. My husband Dan suggested driving up to sunny Somoma to kick it for a few days. We knew just the place.

A little over and hour after leaving the city, we checked into a deluxe guestroom at MacArthur Place, just outside of the square in Sonoma. Our room had a twin daybed for our other travel companion, our three-year-old daughter Parker, as well as close proximity to the pool and spa.

For me, the first order of business was to partake in a prenatal massage, to be followed by reading trashy magazines poolside in a fluffy robe, while Dan and Parker splashed around in the spanking-clean, crystal clear pool.

I groaned audibly as Helen, my talented massage therapist, released tensions and toxins from my beleaguered body. The massage was done on a special extra-cushiony maternity table with a cut-out space where your tummy goes. I felt like I was floating on a cloud of expensive Italian linens. The MacArthur Place Spa offers a unique aromatic touch to their treatments by specially blending single-note essential oils for each client. Helen mixed sandalwood and ylang ylang for me and after my treatment she sent me off with a vial of the luscious fragrance.

There’s actually no good reason to leave this resort oasis — you could stay here and have every whim catered too or simply soak in the sun and the beauty — but there was the three-year-old factor to contend with, so after some much welcomed relaxation, we decided to go explore the Sonoma square.

Many people are aware of the Sonoma Cheese Factory and probably have stopped there for yummy sandwiches and picnic fare, but fewer folks know Vella, though they should. Located a few blocks from the square, in any ivy-covered stone building that formerly housed a brewery, Vella is an artisan producer in the finest Old World tradition. We dropped in to the small tasting room to pick up some aged Dry Jack, a sharp, salty delicious grating cheese about as far from creamy, rubbery Monterey Jack cheese as one could imagine.

Then after a stop at the Sonoma Mission, California’s 21st mission at the corner of  Spain and First streets, we ventured into the square to the Tuesday night Farmers’ Market to mix with the locals. Compared to San Francisco’s veritable food orgy on Saturday mornings at the Ferry Building, this seemed rather quaint. It had a homey, community feel to it, with lots of scrubbed teenagers carousing while their parents listened to live jazz among mounds of heirloom tomatoes and white peaches. Despite the heaps of pedigree produce, the  line at the corndog stand remained steady all evening. We brought some fresh stawberries and a homemade corn muffin from the man at the gumbo stand and headed back to our oasis.

Photo credits: Dan Dion