Traveling alone. I canNOT convince myself that it's okay to have JUST a carry-on suitcase and a purse. Where is everything else? I won't make it without a diaper bag, will I? Isn't the diaper bag crucial to my existence? It's full not only of diapers and wipes but of the stuff of life for my kids--SNACKS and TOYS and the nursing cover--and the diaper bag is not here, not on my shoulder or at my feet. There is no carseat, stroller or pack 'n' play. A night away from home can't be this simple.
Last weekend I took the kids to visit friends (omigosh we had such a great time) and packing took ALL DAY and the entire trunk of my car. When I go by myself, I thought, it's gonna be so easy!
And it was. But the quickness of packing was disconcerting. "I cannot be done," I said perplexedly, looking at the little suitcase parked by the door. "I'm sure I won't survive all weekend with just this." I went over it again in my head: all you need is underwear, a change of clothes, a toothbrush, makeup. That is what it's like to live without kids. Remember? You used to do this.
I left without my phone. Maybe my brain grouped "phone" in with "kids," "diaper bag," "pack 'n' play." Very Important Things I'm Not Bringing With Me. I was only a block away when I missed it so I drove back ...
On the road, I looked over my shoulder before a lane change and saw the empty backseat and my stomach dropped. Not because I actually thought, "where are the kids," but just because it looked so wrong. And I'm used to the sight of pink plump arms and legs, and I'm soothed by that sight, and unnerved when it isn't where it should be.
At the airport, I sat at the gate and stared out the window and thought, this is the most I've daydreamed in years.
It felt strange to be seen by people and not recognized immediately as a mother. For some reason I want them to know. I guess the same reason one wears a college T-shirt--pride. When I pulled out my phone and saw my kids' smiling faces on the screen, I wanted other people to catch a glimpse too. "Oh look, she has kids. She's a mother," they'd note. It wouldn't make any difference to them, but I'd still get that boost--see those cuties? SO CUTE, right? Yep, they're mine.
But my motherhood is invisible right now. So what am I right now? I find myself searching my brain ... how did I think of myself before?
Whenever I take the kids out, to the grocery store or doctors office or anywhere, I watch people's faces and I see them break into a smile--not at me, but at the little curly-headed girl holding my hand or the fat happy baby kicking in the Baby Bjorn. I expect this when I go out. And it always happens, always. Zuzu and Bear make the world a happier place.
Do I have any little pearls of happiness to offer these strangers in the absence of my kids? Am I supposed to?
Gosh, being on a plane is a thousand times easier.
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