The Unaccompanied Mother

This was an original post for LA Moms Blog on August 19, 2008.   Sadly, the SV Moms Group has shut ‘er down, so I’ll be posting my archives here every Friday.

Saturday was a wonderful day.  I enjoyed 12 hours of complete bliss:  relaxing in a plush armchair, reading a book, watching TV without background noise, listening to music, taking a leisurely stroll, enjoying food and drink, even napping.  My kids were home;  I was on an airplane.  By myself.

At 4:45 that morning, I snuck into the boys’ rooms one by one, laid my hands on their warm bodies, and prayed a wordless prayer that we would all be safe during this week apart.  The first week I’ve ever spent away from my babies.

My younger sister had her first baby two months ago, and they live a continent away.  When my kids were born, she flew out to Los Angeles each time to spend a week helping me take care of them.  It’s time for payback.

When I last traveled with my husband and children at Easter, the flights were such ordeals that my husband gave me the green light to visit my sister on my own.  That means no kids.  No extra luggage, no carseats, no sippy cups, no snacks.  No toys, bottles, or pacifiers.  No kicking the seat in front of us, screaming, or fighting.  No giant weight on my shoulders.

It took some negotiating to get a full 7 days “off,” but with the help of daycare and a visiting grandfather, my husband felt okay managing the household on his own for that long.  I also got the days off from my out-of-the-house employer, and I spent a lot of time getting up to date on bills, laundry, and stocking the fridge.  A last minute bump up to first class left me actually looking forward to flying.

Yes, what would have otherwise caused me great anxiety for months of build-up turned into to a mother’s dream.  A full 12 hours of traveling alone meant sitting in a plush seat where a lovely woman brought me food and drinks to my heart’s content.  I read an entire book, “You’ll Never Nanny in This Town Again” by Suzanne Hansen (great light reading – I started it when the plane took off in Los Angeles and finished it as we were landing in Hartford.)  At the layover in Dallas, I wandered around the airport with my single shoulder bag, unfettered by clinging toddlers or cranky husband.  I strolled through a beautiful glass “soundscape” at the American terminal.  I stopped to partake in an interactive demonstration of the Automatic Emergency Defibrillator. The EMT’s gave me magnets as a reward, which I stowed in my bag as souvenirs for the kids.  On the second flight, I indulged in a gin and tonic and I watched an entire TV show – a guilty pleasure sitcom – without interruption.

Upon touchdown, I moseyed off the plane, well-rested and un-rumpled.  So far my stay here has been pretty much the same.  After all, caring for a newborn is nothing compared to a 16-month-old and a 3-year-old.  My nephew sleeps, poops, eats, and is quieted when you pick him up.

Even though they’re 3,000 miles away, my own children follow me around like little shadows.  My sister’s house is woefully non-childproof, which is fine because her baby can’t even roll over yet.  Still, I reflexively put things up on higher shelves, stopping when I remember that my boys won’t be around to destroy them.

I make a point to check in every morning and evening so the children, especially the little one, can hear my voice.  I worry that they will be lost without me, that the little one will not understand why his mommy isn’t there.  But when I call in, I hear the shrieking in the background of two brothers fighting, and their father, too harried to have a conversation, asks me to call back later.  When I do get the 3-year-old on the phone, all he does bark like a dog, and the baby just wants to eat the phone itself.

All is well there, and so it will be here, where I am responsible for only myself and supporting my sister as a new mother.  I know too well the haze of sleepless nights and the painful engorgement of overripe breasts.  I clean the kitchen, do the grocery shopping, make meals, walk the baby.  Since my sister is nursing, I am not waking up at night.  I feel more rested and happy than I have in months. Apparently, so does my 3-year-old.  My father just told me he hasn’t needed a time-out in days.  So I guess the break was good for both of us.

I had been looking forward to this trip like a swimmer looks forward to reaching the end of a long lap.  I was at the end of my rope and I needed a life preserver.  Being away has worked wonders.  A few days into this “vacation” and I miss my children with a physical hunger, so it’s good that I get my baby fix when I snuggle with my little nephew.

In a few more days I will be back home with my own kids, my own house, and my own routine.  But it will all be fresh again, and hopefully I will bring this renewed sense of peace back to it. I will need as much of that peace as I can get, because of all the extra baggage I’ll have to carry once again.