Tag: traveling mom

Family, Travel, Work

Highs and Lows

Jess

I could wait to get back from San Francisco. It’d been a long three days, and as the plane touched down in Portland, I started tapping my feet and upping the antsy-ness. At three days and two nights, it wasn’t the longest I’ve been away from Thomas, but it was close.

I jumped off the plane and bolted through the airport, swerving around meandering passengers. I love the new arrival area at PDX … you walk through glass doors into a bright, wide-open space filled with expectant parents, grandparents, friends and, if you’re lucky, your kiddo.

He didn’t see me at first. He was sipping on a pouch, and walking around the Starbucks tables. As he made a right turn, we locked eyes, and he went into what can best be described as a 20-month-old panic. “ALL DONE ALL DONE!” he yelled, trying to stuff the cap back on the pouch. “MAMA!”

I dropped my suitcase and walked quickly to him (running in airports always feels dangerous to me). Mere seconds later I had the sweetest reward for a week of hard work … a sweaty hug, a little drool, and a sticky hand patting my back as he said, “mama, mama, hug?” I was home, and literally nothing could be better.

Nothing, that is, until you fast forward 90 minutes. Everyone is hungry. Everyone is tired. And maybe, just maybe, we’ve spent a few too many hours at Joann’s buying stuff for the forthcoming merchandise in the shop. It is at these times that genius usually strikes, and tonight it did. My husband and I decided tonight was the night to take Thomas to his first round at Shari’s.

We snuggled into the booth with two menus and a kid’s drawing pack, and Thomas immediately set the coloring the paper. And then the menu. And then the table. It’s during these moments that the flashbacks occur, where you remember every time you’ve glared at another parent who should “just control their kid.” When the waitress took our drink order, I turned my head for two seconds. When I turned back, the window was colored in stripes of green.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “We have stuff that will take that right off.”

But I can’t help but worry about it. This is a learning moment, and a moment to control. I turned to Thomas, and gently said, “we don’t color on windows … if you don’t color on the paper, we are done with it for tonight,” and redirected him to the paper. Task complete, until mere seconds later, he picked up the crayon again and splashed more color across the window.

I picked him up swiftly, and swung him over my lap so he’d be on the other side of me and away from the offending window. In doing so, my child, who I swear grew at least three inches in the three days I was gone, sent my water glass flying with his kick. The entire restaurant went silent, except for Thomas who was yelling, “mine!” as he thrashed in the booth. Jake said, “do you want me to handle it?” My look could’ve killed.

In that moment, I truthfully hated myself. All I had done was pine for my kid for three days, and not two hours after we saw each other, I already wanted to go back to San Francisco, my quiet hotel room, and my newspaper before bedtime. My internal monologue was ugly. “I’m a failure. I’m impatient. I’m failing him. He’s a kid and I can’t keep my cool to make this a learning lesson. I’ve embarrassed everyone.” And so on and so forth.

It was MILES from what I expected my evening to be. Landing in Portland, I fantasized about this evening being full of sweet moments. I pictured us happily “frowing rocks,” hanging with the dog, and snuggling up to “be book.” That fantasy, however, was not to be.

My hormones, my anxiety, my depression, they all spin stories for me about what should and shouldn’t be for myself, for my life, for my family. I constantly have to recenter and remind myself that one transgression doesn’t set a whole day’s (or even a whole hour’s) path, and yes, we can bounce back. It feels impossible and scary in that moment to forgive myself, but taking a deep breath is often enough to help at least get me started.

That’s what I did tonight. I told Jake I needed a second to settle. I hugged my child. Within seconds, he was happily eating croutons and talking in garbled sentences. We ate dinner, watched our neighbor leaf blow his yard, read a few books, chased the dog … it was a good night after all.

Work

Strike of the Marine Layer

Jess

When my new boss asked me to come to San Francisco for training the day after Labor Day, I only batted half an eyelash.

Sure, my in-laws are in town. Sure, it’ll be insane because of day after Labor Day travel. But, with an 11am start, I could prioritize seeing my child, catch the 8:45a to San Francisco, and arrive by the skin of my teeth for my literal first day on the job. You know, assuming all the stars aligned.

My panic started on Labor Day itself. Pain in my stomach, random tears, hyperventilating panic. My carefully planned departure meant I could wake up, get ready, breastfeed, and spend some time with Thomas before disappearing from his immediate view for 72 hours. The Jess who made that plan, who was going to be an in-control mom and employee, had booked the flight without hesitation. The Jess of September 3, 2018, however, couldn’t breathe.

I assessed options, but none were logical. To buy an earlier flight outright was in the hundreds of dollars. To move to the earlier flight, I had to get on a waiting list from which I might get moved to the standby list. Knowing I was painted into a corner, I took a deep breath, and kept the original flight.

That night brought more anxiety of its own. In-laws, packing, teething. All of these completely manageable (and some even embraced!) on their own. But together, they made for a perfect storm.

Thomas, feeling the anxiety (potentially) or the teeth (more likely), amped up the clinginess. Mistakenly, I let him fall asleep in my arms. For the next two hours, anytime he was put down, he screamed. Many tears were had by both him and I before he finally fell asleep after 10p. I had a cider and a noble Coors Light to calm my panic.

Thankfully, we did all sleep. I got Thomas up, fed him, and left for the airport with a chorus of, “I duv do too.” In the car, however, I received the first of many alerts … flying to SFO in the summer brings the marine layer which, unfortunately, brought a substantial delay to my flight.

I didn’t just feel the panic of being late for my first day as a new employee. Nor of going to a new job after a disastrous end (and some actual PTSD) from my last. I also felt the guilt of what I have come to recognize in myself and my mom friends as, “the working mom syndrome.”

The guilt of prioritizing my bond with my child over a place of business. Fear over how that would reflect on me, especially on my first day. If I’d just taken the earlier flight, I would have rolled into San Francisco early (because of COURSE the 6:30a was on time!). Instead, I made a “selfish” decision to prioritize seeing my child, getting some sleep, and not pumping. And, for that, I paid the price in extra franticness and guilt.

Instead of being safely on the ground, on time, in San Francisco, I sat in the Portland airport trying to clear my mind. I quickly pumped in the bathroom because, with the delay, I now would feel even more uncomfortable making the ask to pump over lunch.

I stepped into the elite line to board over glares from the “general boarding” passengers. Yes, fellow traveler, I am utilizing my (hard-earned from so many miles away from my little guy) gold status to jump ahead. But I need you to understand … I can’t check my bag and I needed to pump. Can’t you see I am one breath away from completely crumbling?

What is the lesson in all of this? I am ultimately not sure. Either way, it feels like a lose-lose.

I can take the earlier flight, be on time (maybe?), but miss the curve of his cheeks, the way his in-person duck-like laugh is so much more satisfying than anything else, and one hundred more hugs. I can take the later flight and “know” that my employers are passing judgment for first day lateness, which is so tightly coupled with my identity of mother and woman and employee, and threatens my very core.

Even 36 hours later, I’m still trying to settle the internal struggle. The only real conclusion I’ve come to is that this, like everything else, will take deep breaths, many moments of practice, and some trust that some in the world are more understanding than credit is given.

Yesterday, I landed in San Francisco under a blue sky. My Lyft arrived at the terminal in literally one minute. Traffic to the downtown office was clear. And, upon arrival, I found out that the kick-off had been delayed until 1p. I had that moment to breathe, and, it turns out, no reason to worry.