First trip without baby booked

The baby isn’t here yet, but I’ve just booked my first evening away from her. She’ll be approximately two months old and it will be our fourth wedding anniversary.

I received a great Groupon offer, from a hotel an hour from our home, that includes dinner for two and a night’s lodging. Two months is a bit young, but it’s only one night and it’s so close to home.

I didn’t leave River for any extended period until he was three months. Then I left him for 12 hours with a woman in Mexico, while Mark and I took a van far away to go see monarch butterflies. I didn’t mind being away from him for that period, but the conditions didn’t allow me to pump, and it was a killer on my boobs.

This trip is more likely to be 18-24 hours and it will be overnight, but we’ll probably know our sitter much better than we knew the (kind and wonderful ) woman in Mexico, we’ll be in control of the transportation, and we’ll be in easy phone contact.

Mark and I haven’t slept together in what feels like ages. He’s been complaining about the couch lately and asking when he gets to sleep in a real bed. We agreed that whoever is on baby duty at night will get the real bed after the birth, while the other sleeps on the couch with earplugs. So his only prospect for a mattress in the near term comes along with a baby that will probably be wakeful.

I’m excited to have a date on the calendar in which we’ll be able to share an evening together, share a bed, and have some time alone. I don’t even care much about the attractions in the town. I’m thinking dinner, a movie, some wine, a good night’s sleep, breakfast and perhaps a stroll. That sounds like a fantastic, and sufficient, celebration.

It may not be easy – we’ll have to find a sitter, I’ll probably be dealing with breastfeeding issues, it might be hard to leave so early. But I think it’s a good thing for us to do and I’m already looking forward to it.

The parents are tired

I spoke to my parents last night and for the first time, since I left River with them two weeks earlier, they sounded tired. They maintained a stoic front. My dad said they were holding up, but admitted that his nap from 11-2 kept them homebound. My mom told me all the new words he’s picked up, how bright and quick she thinks he is, and how easy-going he is. Yet she said if she has to go after another car, ball or Elmo she’s going to pass it on to my dad. And she did break a bone in her foot since I left.

Now that Mark is gone, I feel bad hanging out in Iceland alone while my parents watch my child. Originally, I had planned to take a hike or do something adventurous, which Mark wasn’t so interested in. But I wasn’t able to set something up for this particular day. So instead, I spent the day walking around town, visiting museums, eating a fantastic meal and reading.

I suppose I need to appreciate the time while I have it. In just over 24 hours, I’ll be back to full-time parenthood, my day defined by naps, meals and pottying. I’m excited to see my baby and to have my buddy around again. But for now, I’ll enjoy the quiet and the lack of interruptions.

First Steps

Mark sent me a text message to let me know that River took his first steps this evening. Mark had gone grocery shopping and was putting away the groceries. Unsurprisingly, it was food that first motivated River to walk. He wanted to see what Mark was putting in the refrigerator, so he walked to the kitchen, even negotiating the bump that divides the kitchen from the adjoining room and walked to the refrigerator.

“I was cheering wildly for him,” Mark said. “But he didn’t seem to appreciate it.”

My Russian friend Marina said that River is probably scared of walking. She thinks he will only do it when he is focused on a particular goal (such as seeing what goodies dad has bought) and is not thinking of what he’s doing. If he actually realizes he’s walking, he becomes scared.

“It was a very random surprise,” Mark said. He just turned around and suddenly saw him walking.

Of course, I’m very sad to not have been there to see that. I’m doubly sad that because I took the camera and the videocamera with me, Mark had no way to record it.

Almost heading home

Tomorrow I take the first steps in what will be my three-day journey homeward. I’ve been counting down the time until I go home pretty much since I arrived. It’s close to the last thing that comes to my mind each evening, it’s definitely the first thing I think about in the morning and I also count down several times during the day. As tomorrow has approached, my mood has begun to noticeably lift. Just heading towards my River raises my spirits. The act of reducing the distance between us seems as though it’s doing something positive.

My friends gathered for a goodbye this evening. We spent five pleasant hours eating, drinking and talking together.

“I have a feeling we won’t see each other again,” one of my friends said. I told her she was wrong, but in my heart, I recognize she might be right. Much as I might love this place and many of the people here, it’s unlikely I’ll have a compelling reason to come back. It’s now my family who calls me.

This trip has made me even more appreciative of my family than I was before. I realize that before I met Mark, something was definitely missing from my life. He fulfilled that missing piece. I also realize that having River has made me a kinder, gentler and more beautiful person. I am grateful for what they’ve brought to my life – love, security, closeness, trust and happiness – and also how they have affected the person I am.

Nevertheless, I feel a sadness at not being able to have it all – not being able to maintain close relationships with friends I love from various corners of the world at the same time that I try to establish a stable home with my family. I have to accept that I can’t have it all.

Almost daily, I look at the photos a mom-friend sent me of River affectionately playing with her son. That was a good two weeks ago though, before he started walking. I know he must be different now. But I haven’t had access to any videos, he doesn’t react to my voice when I try to talk to him by phone, so I’ve basically given up and resorted to looking at these photos and getting updates from Mark. The distance has grown. It’s gotten to where it’s sad, but not as painful, where it’s almost hard to visualize him.

“Do you think he will recognize you when you come back?” a friend here asked me.

“I try not to think about that,” I said. “Because the thought of him not recognizing me is too painful to contemplate.”

Counting down the days

It’s been a rough week for me. I was depressed and homesick before anything bad happened. Then I had a run-in with the Russian police over visa issues and the desire to go home only multiplied. I looked into changing my flights, but it would cost $450, when the tickets themselves cost just over $1,000. As much as I’d love to be home, even a few days earlier, Mark didn’t think it was worth that expense. So I’m sitting here and waiting the time out, counting down the hours and the days, waiting for the moment when I’ll be back with my family.

Perhaps it’s a good thing to not run at the first sign of fear. I’m having some good experiences now and I will be able to leave with more balanced impressions.

At the same time, I’m learning I really don’t want to be away from my family for extended periods. Short trips away are fine, and probably good for everyone. If I’m going to take extended trips, I better have a good reason. And I should really chose destinations that are more enjoyable than a cold, barren place in winter. Sun, warm weather and good food would probably help a lot.

I’m also learning to appreciate my quotidian life. I can’t wait to get back to the unexciting, but pleasant tasks of organizing get-togethers for moms, organizing morning walks, doing my work in the afternoons and running errands with River on weekends. I am lucky to have the luxury of safety, freedom and financial independence within with to operate. I will value that more in the future.

A baby to a toddler

This morning, when Mark told me that I left a baby and will be returning to a toddler, I asked him to not make me cry. And really, I was on the verge of tears. I had to collect myself in order to not start crying.

It’s not as though this transformation is news to me. I already thought River had become a young toddler before I left. But still, the changes he’s undergone in just the last few weeks have been rapid. I’m afraid he will seem different when I return and that I will regret not being there to see him progress to his newest self. Let’s face it, I already regret not being there.

Mark said that River hasn’t walked again since he did so on the evening of March 4th. He was going to have him try while he was talking to me, but I asked him not to. I’d rather he not become an expert walker by next weekend. I’d like to be able to see his progression.

I would still like to get home sooner, I’d like to see him and wrap my arms around him. But with time, he’s becoming more distant. I know he’s there, I think about him and love him and I speak to him on the phone, but he doesn’t recognize my voice on the phone. We don’t have any way to connect, so all we can do is live apart as we have to for the moment. It’s sad, but it does become strangely more bearable with time.

Depression

I have been in a funk all morning. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I just want to lie or stare into space and think about River, Mark, home. I have the song in my head, “I wanna go home.” I do. I’m not happy here. I like my family and my home and I feel lucky to have them.

I think I’m depressed. I’m able to deal when I’m at an event or speaking with someone. But as soon as it’s over, I feel a heavy weight and sadness. It’s difficult to think of anything beyond my desire to want to go home. I repeatedly count down to the date I’ll arrive and look forward to it as a magic day.

I contacted the airlines to find out the options for changing my ticket. I feel like I’m not fully engaging with people here, that I’m not fully present, that I’m just thinking of my baby and wanting to go see him.

I keep my computer clock set at the time at home, so I can try to imagine what River is up to. I feel left out by not knowing what is happening in River’s life. Mark says not to worry about them and to enjoy my time and freedom. Unfortunately, it’s just not happening. I think it might be better if I was somewhere tropical. I think that living alone in an isolated place doesn’t help. I think that not having a TV definitely plays a factor. I feel I’m just moving on the fringes. I’m not comfortable and what I’m getting here isn’t enough to make up for what I’m missing at home.

The Eyes of a Mother

I’m missing my little River so much right now. It looks like a week, or just over that, is really all I want to be away from him at a time. When I look at the photos of him another mother sent me, I see such beauty. I see only good things, as though he radiates golden light. I have the eyes of his mother.

Phone call from a distance

Mark called this morning with River and Mark’s parents there. I spoke to River, though they said he didn’t seem to recognize my voice. It’s so hard to hear the little sounds of his presence but to not be able to reach out and touch him.

Grandma says it’s clear both Mark and River miss me, but that River is reaching out for his dad, which is good to hear. She says he is standing and even playing ball while standing, but not taking steps yet. I want to say, wait, hold off for two more weeks please. I want to be there with you baby for your big moment.

I’m glad that it’s already March. I’m already in the month in which I’ll be reunited with him. I want to lie on our bed with him, to have him run across from side to side, giggling and exploring, climbing over me, occasionally pausing to lie down next to me or to hug me. I’ll just have to trust that each day will pass and soon enough he’ll be back in my arms.

One week away

I’ve been away from home for a week, but it feels like a lifetime. I admit, as I was traveling to my destination, I felt the excitement of a new adventure. I was glad that I didn’t allow maternal separation anxiety to keep me from going out into the world. I felt like, in the long run, it was probably best for everyone if mom still had her adventures.

Since shortly after arriving though, I’ve been sick. A really pernicious cold or flu that has lasted several days already and keeps me in bed a good 15 hours a day. With great effort, I try to emerge from my lair for a few hours each day. The rest of the time, I’m locked away, alone, with no even so much as a TV or a radio to keep me company.

In the past, I think some of my world travels were in part a search for home, a place where I would belong. Now I have that security of a home and a family. I miss Mark’s hugs, I miss River’s slobbers and coos. A few days after I arrived, I began to count down the days until I go home.

A little distance

A little distance, combined with a lack of sleep, does a lot of good in getting over mother-baby separation anxiety. A dose of excitement helps as well.

I finally got excited when I arrived in Moscow. The language around me was foreign, but I understood it. I’d been there before, but it was still a new environment and I had to stretch to figure things out. Riding in the taxi on the way into town I was excited by the decrepit apartment blocks, by the trucks covered with a layer of winter grime, by the red, white and blue banners flying in advance of Men’s Day (or Defender’s of the Motherland land day), by the majestic Stalinist wedding cake building, by the small kiosks selling blini, chicken or jewelry. All of this made me feel at home.

It reminded me of why I love being overseas in the first place and why I have traveled so much since I’ve been able to – because it challenges my mind and my senses, it invigorates me and brings the details of daily living to my attention. I realize that having a family means I can’t live overseas as I might like to. While I’m willing to make that sacrifice, this trip is helping me to remember that keeping myself whole probably means traveling from our family base, either with or without River.

I have had four interviews so far for a potential dream job, wonderful in many ways, but requiring a lot of travel. This trip will be a test of what it might be like if I were to get and take this job. Could I handle being separated from River one quarter of the time as well as the travel fatigue? Can Mark handle keeping the ship afloat on his own?

This is an experiment in where our family boundaries are and how we can craft an existence that works best for everyone.

Bye bye baby

I’m now at an airport three hours from home and am in the process of putting many more hours and miles between myself and River.

The hardest part by far is the moment of leaving, followed by the time leading up to the separation. The time after leaving, by comparison, is easy. I held myself together for his sake. It wouldn’t do him any good to see me cry or to feel my anxiety. Mark dropped me off, I hugged River in his carseat, and at my request, Mark drove off. The quick goodbye was easier on both of us than a prolonged one would have been.

I prepared as well as I could. The plane crash in Buffalo only brought home even more the reminder that life is precious and can end at any time. I spent quality time with both Mark and River in the days before leaving, my last words to both of them were filled with love, I even left a note in the fire box, in case something should happen, to remind them once more of my feelings for them.

As this date approached, I wasn’t very excited about the trip. I’m still not. Perhaps that will come with landing in a foreign environment. What I was excited about was the time at the airport. I imagined myself free of the responsibility of a young child, engaging in luxurious reading, writing, window shopping and napping. That sounded heavenly to me. Now that it’s here, yes I’m writing and yes I’m free of distractions. But I’m just tired and not enjoying it as much as I thought I might. I’d rather be playing with River.

This morning, shortly before leaving, I took River on a walk. Usually I listen to audiobooks while walking. It’s the only way I get any real reading done these days. But today, like in the past few days, I didn’t want to wear the ipod. I think I was subconsciously saving up moments to carry with me. I didn’t want to be separated from my environment, but instead wanted to hear it – the passing trucks, the dialogue of pedestrians, the rustle of the wind, River’s little babbles. I locked in the image of his small white hands gripping the stroller bar as he looked out at the scenery and the feeling of the stroller rhythmically rocking as he moved his body back and forth. I also took several photos of his activities this morning – clamoring to get up on my lap, lying flat on the floor and reaching under the TV stand in a search for balls, eating breakfast, and playing on his rocking horse – that I carry with me on my digital camera and help me to relive our last hours together.

I write as if he’s dead, or as if I am. There are a lot of things worse than a three week and three day separation. But I wonder if, to him, it may seem as though mommy is dead, or gone forever. It feels like I’ve left a part of myself behind. In a sense, I have. At the same time, while we come from the same flesh, we are individuals and we’ll need to travel in different directions at certain points in life. Knowing that we’ll come together again makes me happy.

The big day approaches

The big day has been creeping up and will already be here in a matter of hours. Tomorrow I leave for just over three weeks.

The nervous butterflies have begun to creep in. Today, I was on the verge of tears a couple of times just thinking about leaving my pudgy little bundle of love. In the morning, he was clingy and I felt I was too often trying to escape him for a few moments in order to do the things that needed to be done. In the evening, he went down early and was asleep by 6 p.m. Initially, I appreciated the time to focus on finishing packing. But within a couple of hours, I wished I could be holding and hugging him.

My goal is to finish up tonight so that I can give him undivided attention during the few hours we have together in the morning. Unfortunately, River will be with Mark when he drops me off at the shuttle. The leaving is the hardest part. Having him there will drag it out and make it more emotional, and more difficult, for me.

He seemed anxious and crabby today. Anytime I put him down, he’d scoot after me, raising his hands in a supplication to be in my arms. I commented to Grace that it seemed he might know I’m leaving tomorrow.

“I think he might be able to sense it,” she said.

I tell myself I’m overrating my importance, as I think mothers are prone to do. I remind myself that he’ll be in great hands in a safe, loving atmosphere. But still, I’m sorry I have to leave him for so long.

Mom's separation anxiety

I’ve been absent from the blogsphere for the past week or so. Suddenly, there is a lot going on that is keeping me very occupied. All in a short period of time we’ve had a death in the family, an exciting professional development, an opportunity to interview for my dream job and planning a major trip.

I’m going to Siberia for three weeks soon and after much deliberation, I’ve decided to leave River home. That’s probably best for his welfare. However, I’m having my own emotional meltdown about leaving him for so long at this age. I feel deceitful in that I can’t tell him or prepare him ahead of time. I feel like each time we spend time together, I’m trying to rack up quality time for the time that I miss. I’m worried that unlike when I went out of town when he was younger, this time he’s going to remember me and miss me. I worry that he can’t verbalize his concerns, nor can he understand when people explain. I’m afraid he’ll feel abandoned and that he’ll lose trust in me.

My original plan was to take him, in which case he would have been away from Mark for three weeks. I don’t think Mark would have worried much about these things. He probably would have enjoyed the quiet time. Nor do I really think River would have suffered too much without seeing his father for a few weeks.

So does that mean I believe there is a fundamental difference between mothers and fathers and that mothers are somehow more important? Wouldn’t that go against my beliefs in feminism and co-parenting?

Perhaps there is a difference. Maybe there is some type of chemical connection that happens with birth. Maybe there is meant to be a special biological bond between mother and child. Or it might be only that in our case, I spend more hours per week with River than Mark does. While Mark does a lot with River, I am the one who is usually thinking ahead and planning for River’s needs. Maybe I’m overestimating myself, as I think mothers are prone to do, in thinking that without my planning, his world will fall apart. I know it won’t and I know that our babysitter and Mark will love and care for him.

In any case, he darn well better start walking before I go. He’s got just under a month to take that first step and I need him to do so. If I miss that big milestone, I’m really going to become a psychological case.

To add to my meltdown, I just finished watching a 20/20 show on how to survive a catastrophe. A survivor of a horrendous plane crash recounted an 18-month old seated in front of him, who had been playing peek a boo with him, and ending up dying. That boy has haunted this survivor for 20 years. I am terrified of putting River into a situation like that in which he is in danger and there is nothing I can do to save him.

I’m not a big stickler for safety. I think certain rules, like carseats, are good to strive for, but shouldn’t always be mandatory. There are some circumstances, such as a baby who nurses 2-4 hours at a shot, or going out of town when it’s not feasible to lug along the carseats, in which I think it’s reasonable to skip the seats.

I generally think the same thing about baby seats on airlines – useful, but a hassle and the odds of needing them are small. Still, when the domestic flight we took in Panama shook so much in the wind that some people screamed and the woman next to me held my hand, I realized that in case of a crash or a fall, River would be the first one to hit the ceiling and probably the most likely to be injured. It’s not possible to hold tight to an infant and to assume the safest crash landing posture. And the airplane seatbelts don’t hold a small child securely (which I’d guess is what killed the 18 month old).

So now I’m finding myself thinking that I will take a carseat along on flights when practical. If I go completely overboard, I’ll follow the advice of another passenger who survived and dress him in 100 percent natural fibers, so that in the one in a billion or so chance we go down in a fiery crash, he’ll reduce his chances of being burned.

Overall, I think I’m just going through a period of anxiety in which I recognize that nothing I do can protect him fully. The more time we spend together, the more investment I put into his growth and development, the more he becomes a person, the more frightened I become of something taking that away.

I think I need to start doing more meditation or somehow find myself some more zen. I want to be like the Buddhists and appreciate River’s presence right now, appreciate all he has already done for me and for others, and treat all joy we might receive in the future as a gift rather than an expectation. I’m trying, but it’s not happening.

Are there others out there who aren’t generally anxious about their children, but have occasional anxiety spells like this come over them? If so, how do you cope with them?

Nine Days Without Baby - end

I made it home at the end of nine nights and ten days and found that my baby didn’t seem to have been affected at all by my absence. He returned to breastfeeding instantaneously. He warmed up to me instantly. The only odd moment was when he repeated bit (hard) my nipple while breastfeeding, the same way he does a bottle nipple. After removing him from the breast each time he did that, he never did it again.

My milk supply was reduced and I had to give him between 1 and 3 bottles a day for the first week or two after I returned.

I learned that it is possible to go away for that long and to continue breastfeeding, as long as one is willing to spend a lot of time pumping. I learned that babies can be happy as long as they are being well cared for and that I shouldn’t overvalue myself. I learned that while I sometimes disagree with some of my husband’s parenting choices, River was in good shape at the end of the period. And I learned that babies don’t forget boobies, even when they’ve been gone a (relatively) long time.

Nine Days Without Baby - Day 6

I’ve started to think that I traveled to Iowa to pump instead of to study. With a minimum of eight sessions per day at 20 minutes each, I’m pumping two hours and forty minutes a day. With at least one middle-of-the-night pump and a six a.m. pump, my fantasies of full nights of sleep remain elusive.

My schedule is determined by pumping. I’d love to get up early in the morning and go to a wonderful local coffee shop, with dim lights and a deep interior full of wooden tables and soft chairs. Instead, I stay home until I must be somewhere so that I can pump as long as possible.

I can feel that my breasts are full, only I still get two ounces or less with each pumping. I’m sure if River was here he could find himself a satisfying meal after the pump is no longer able to get another drop. It’s a shame that I can’t find a pump that can extract more, but I’m crossing my fingers that I’m maintaining enough of a supply that we can get back on track when I got home. If not, I’m wasting a lot of time.

When I called home I got to hear River babble into the phone. Mark says he isn’t acting any differently.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you when you get here,” he said. “He’s excited to see me when I get home. But he’s not the kind of guy to let the absence of anyone keep him from enjoying what he has at the moment.”

I think that is one of the first lessons my child is teaching me by example. Maybe we’d all be as continually happy as he is if we could only find joy in whatever the present brought and not worry about the things we were missing at the time.

Nine Days Without Baby - Day 5

I’m in this area for only a week. But I contacted a local supplier of hospital-grade breast pump rentals and they agreed to rent a Medela Lactina Select to me for a week (for less than $10). I appreciated the kindness of Iowans at that moment.

When I called, the representative said she didn’t think there was much difference between the Lactina Select and the Pump in Style. However, I’d read things online that claimed the Lactina was stronger. I felt I had to make my best effort, so I went ahead and got it.

As a result, I walked into class with a giant, blue plastic case slung over my shoulder, as if I was carrying construction equipment. The Lactina requires an outlet and I was tired of the toilet anyway. I decided to try to use a classroom. I posted a Please Do Not Disturb sign in the doorway, chose rooms with the desk in the far corner, and pumped for 20 minutes. It was much more comfortable than the toilet. Using the desk, I could even read. And no one barged in.

While I was down to 12 ounces or so of milk collection, I could feel that my breasts were full. The supply was there, the pump just wasn’t getting it out. I hoped that my being vigilant with my fluid intake, my fenugreek and my pumping would at least allow me to maintain the supply until I returned home. At that point, I’d feed River as much as I could and would be very careful about pumping, at least for the next few weeks.

Nine Days Without Baby - Day 4

I think this could be called panic day. As my milk supply remained low, and went even lower, I wondered how I could possibly maintain it for another week. I feared losing the supply, returning home and not being able to breastfeed anymore.

I’d been rather lax about pumping lately. I thought he’d passed the six month mark, he’s healthy, and I need time to be a person too. So he’d been receiving breastmilk when I was around, formula when I wasn’t. I knew that if he grew out of breastfeeding soon that he’d be a healthy and happy baby.

However, being away from him and suddenly faced with the thought of my supply drying up made me realize that I wasn’t ready for the intimacy of breastfeeding him to end. I considered flying home. I spent all evening reading articles online, looking for products that could help me. For the first time, I realized there is a difference between my Medela Pump-In-Style and the pumps women rent from hospitals (hospital grade pumps).

I cringed when I read women writing about their milk “drying up.” It’s such a horrible term, connoting withering, dryness, age and barrenness. Even though I rationally knew there was nothing wrong with starting to focus on my own life and interests now, emotionally I felt that if I returned home “dried up,” I’d be a failure as a mother. I would feel so guilty for denying him any more access to breastmilk, for breaking that bond of intimacy between us, so that I could pursue my own interests for a week.

I upped my fenugreek to three tablets three times a day, I downed water and Nursing Mother tea, I pumped, I tried to get more protein and rest, I researched hospital-grade pumps, I even researched medicine said to increase milk supply. Someone told me I should pump at least eight times a day for 20 minutes each time. That’s not easy when I need to be outside of the house sometimes. So I ended up pumping in the bathroom.

I knew the whirring noise probably freaked people out. And it wasn’t very comfortable for me on the toilet either. Once a woman asked, “What is that noise?” When I called out “a breastpump,” she told me my baby would sure appreciate it, that both her daughters had nursed, and they had never had to use a bathroom stall.

Nine Days Without Baby - Day 3

I called home today and got to listen to the rhythmic vibrating sound River makes when Mark runs his finger over River’s lip. He seemed happy and dad was holding up well. So all was good.

Except that I was only pumping 16 ounces of milk per day – two bottles worth. River drinks at least four or five. I started to have doubts. Was I going to lose my milk supply?

I called a lactation consultant and she wasn’t very encouraging. “All that formula you gave him reduced your supply,” she said, as though I was a bad, bad mother. “And of course a pump isn’t the same as a baby.”

She said I should pump for at least as long as Soren feeds every day. Two hours in the morning? I didn’t think that was realistic. And I should eat protein and whole grains and look at their web page.

Thanks a lot for the encouragement, I thought.

Nine Days Without Baby

I’m on my way to a writer’s conference and for this trip, I’m leaving baby at home. I’ll be away from him for nine nights – three times as long as I’ve been away before.

When we spent our first weekend apart, I worried until I knew he arrived safely at his grandparents’ home. Then I enjoyed the quiet.

When I left for three days, I enjoyed myself, but missed him intensely by the end. I had his favorite song stuck in my head, I could feel the phantom of his little body in my arms. I returned home, eager to hug and hold him. He’d just learned to roll over the day before. When I came in, he glanced up at me, then went back to smiling at the babysitter.

For this trip, I started missing River two days before I even left. I treasured the long morning feeding, I stroked his soft, smooth skin, hoping I could take the feeling with me and maintain it over a week. I’m grateful that my estrogen levels are still very low, due to breastfeeding. Otherwise, I’m sure I would have left in tears.

I’ve now been away two hours and am at an airport Starbucks. I miss him already. But at the same time, it’s such a treat to be able to sit peacefully and write as I wait for my flight. I haven’t been able to do this since before he was born and it’s a luxury I now appreciate.