I still vividly recall my return to work after the birth of my first daughter. Six weeks and four days had passed since she entered my life. My husband and I decided he would take her to the sitter’s place; I felt too emotional to do it myself. After spending ten precious minutes kissing and caressing her in the car, I finally closed the door. My husband glanced over at me through his open window and asked, “Are you alright?”
I nodded, and he drove away. I stood there, reminiscent of Mae Whitman’s character in Hope Floats, wanting to shout for them to come back—my arms longed for my baby, and my feet itched to chase after them. Instead, I remained rooted to the spot, shoulders quaking as I cried. I promised myself I would never be apart from my child again if I could avoid it.
Nearly 12 years have passed since that day, yet the emotions from that moment linger. My husband and I have managed a few overnight getaways since then, which have been refreshing, albeit eerily quiet. We’ve dined at restaurants without paper tablecloths and crayons, hit the gym, and enjoyed uninterrupted conversations while holding hands. These moments remind us of our early days together, reinforcing that we are still the same couple who fell in love years ago. When we return to our daughters, we feel revitalized.
A few years back, I prepared to attend a writing conference. My daughters were upset, clinging to me with tear-filled eyes despite the discussions we had prior to my departure. I hesitated, watching their matching blue eyes filled with sorrow. After a long ten minutes of indecision, my husband finally nudged me out the door. The 45-minute drive to the train station and the subsequent four-hour train ride to New York City were filled with my struggle to keep tears at bay. It felt wrong to be away from my children; part of me wished for a badge that read “I have three kids!” while another part worried that others would think I was a terrible mother for enjoying time without them.
Their absence felt like phantom limbs. As I walked through the hotel, I half-expected to see them beside me. I managed to get through my time at the blog conference, but it took me a whole year before I could bring myself to travel again.
Last week, after spending a week together in Washington for spring break, I flew to another conference in California while my husband took the girls back to New York. They were excited about my award nomination and helped me select an outfit for the ceremony. My eldest even packed a silver purse for me, saying, “So you can think of me and have me with you.”
This trip felt different. I was genuinely eager to connect with new friends and enjoy an evening filled with excitement. I took my time indulging in complimentary hotel lotion after my shower and reveled in an early morning run without worrying about waking anyone. I missed my kids, of course, but there was a refreshing joy in being…alone for a change.
After 12 years of parenting, I’ve learned that I need this time away. I need to exist as an individual, not just as an extension of my family. I often talk about being a positive role model for my daughters. If I never prioritize myself, what kind of example am I setting?
Yes, I still feel that pull to be home. That never goes away. But am I grateful I took the chance to spend two nights in California, soaking in writing insights and celebrating with respected peers? Absolutely.
Will I ever travel without that phantom limb ache, questioning if I’m being selfish? I don’t think so. The longing we feel for our children is profound, a sensation that remains no matter how far away we go. Once you’ve wanted and waited for someone, when you finally hold their hand, a part of you just doesn’t want to let go.
Yet we do. This is the essence of parenting. We embark on these small journeys to learn the art of coming and going, preparing ourselves for the day when it will be our children leaving us, not the other way around. These little excursions are practice for those inevitable moments.
For further insights on home insemination and parenting journeys, check out this blog post, which discusses a joyful conclusion to a challenging three-year journey with at-home insemination. If you’re looking for resources, the Cryobaby Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit Combo is a great option, and for more extensive information, you can refer to this excellent Wikipedia resource on in vitro fertilisation.
In summary, the experience of balancing motherhood with personal needs is an ongoing journey. The struggle of letting go and embracing independence is essential for both mothers and their children.