I travel
somewhat frequently. I’ve always paid attention to the different “travel hacks”
– how do I make travel smoother, easier, more efficient, more convenient… It’s always hard not to notice the parents in
this snippet of their day. From the tiny
noodles, to toddlers who won’t sit still; the 8 year olds who think they can do
it all on their own, and the teenagers too cool to have anything to do with
their adults.
It’s nearly
impossible for me to limit my travel packing – how do these parents accomplish
it without bringing ten million bags?
What are their secrets?
Today
flying from dallas to atlanta, I notice this curious bright eyed hapa toddler (East
Asian + White) observing the world from her mother’s arm.
My heart
sings. My ovaries squeeze.
As they
moved through the airport I wondered, how did she stay unflappably cool – Mother
and Baby? I wanted to ask all the
questions and unload all the doubts. How
do you do it? How do you talk to her? How do you raise her? How do you impart what
you know, and the multitude of everything you don’t? How do you leave your
hangups at the door, and give them the room to grow and open doors of their own
making?
I take my
seat at the gate – and they sit next to me – affording the delightful privilege
of voyeur. Mom offers, calmly and
evenly, a few different snacks – showing and asking Baby about fruits, then
cheese, before Baby decides on goldfish.
Baby sticks her hand measuredly in and out that magical cup that lets
fishes out when you want but keeps them inside as it knocks around Mom’s bag.
Mom pulls
out a book! And baby reads along. They
sit and finish their book, and Baby is so content. until she decides she wants to walk around.
Mom is so
cool and calm and unruffled through it all.
Is this the
secret to raising a baby? You stay calm through it all and never let baby see
you sweat?
Eventually
a middle aged Indian couple sits across from us. They too look at baby and family. I see something in their eyes. Maybe recognition, maybe curiosity. There is more than a passing glance for them,
and I think of my own family.
Do they
know that in this moment, I’m watching my full circle? In them I see my husband’s parents? In Baby I
see my own possible future? In Mom I see the veneer of traveling mother traits I
would aspire to?
Clearly I
am struggling with my motherhood decision – whether this is right for me and my
immediate family of 2.
As 31
knocks, louder, and my ovaries approach the decrepit geriatric Cliff of 35, I
hear this bell tolling. I feel this weight on my shoulders and inside. Do I want this? Is this right for me?
In this age
and era of choice, I HAVE this choice.
Our mothers before us did not. So
many women in the US and around the world, still do not. Their reproductive rights are restricted and
limited by men deciding in boardrooms, behind glass walls and closed doors, in
ivory towers both literal and figurative, shaped by centuries of culture.
And here I
am. A woman of privilege, and choice, and power. I can choose.
But what do I choose?
For me this
decision is complex, and I have yet to find a way to make it less so.
I think of
the ever growing, endless pressure of climate change. What is the world that I will leave behind?
What is the legacy that my child will experience? And their children? Their
children’s children? Am I confining them
to constant worry about sea level rise, floods, extreme weather, extreme heat, a
lack of reliable food sources or famine, disease? We know these will drive political
instability as governments and people fight over increasing limited resources.
I recognize my privilege means I likely won’t experience much directly… and if
I do, my family will have the resources and education to overcome. But the fact remains these worries will be
ever present and ever increasing. And my
child may not have the wherewithal and resources to deal with these things. They
may worry about these things for their own children, in a more visceral way.
In my narrow,
shortsighted way, I think about what that means for my little family of 2. Gone are weekend trips, late nights out,
quiet nights in. While N’s career will
pause, mine will take a hiatus with diminished returns when I rejoin the
workforce. Gone is our financial buffer –
though to be clear we would by no means suffer. These feel small, and petty, but they are nonetheless true.
A life without a child would likely mean true global careers - based abroad. Something we both thought we'd do. Though there are some who raise global citizens by parenting abroad, this is not a path we are likely to choose with a small human. But our domestic careers as they stand afford us, again, the privilege to do both domestic and global work that is rewarding, fulfilling, and financially stable (for him at least).
We love
each other, naturally, N and I. But the sheer and absolute terror of loving a
child, who relies on you and you alone for life, is overwhelming. It is absolutely petrifying to have your own
emotions wrapped up in a tiny human, moving in a world that you cannot control
or make safe for them.
As we look ahead to old age, what then do we do in our dottage? Our parents in many ways live for us their children. We have the tacit and spoken understanding that we will be their caregivers. What of us? What will give us purpose as we age? There is, as much as I am loath to admit, something special about being the parent of an adult child.
I think of N and I can see the ways he would be a wonderful, though firm, father. I wonder how he would indulge this non existent tiny human. Would he share his love of flavors and cooking? Would he calmly explain algebra and trigonometry? Would he teach (real) futbol? It's hard to see N with a noodle, but sometimes I see these snippets and wonder if I'm depriving N and the noodle the joys of each other.
And with all this I haven't considered what it is to be a woman. Trying. Pregnant. Post-Partum. I am so completely terrified by post partum depression and psychosis. I worry that I'm higher risk. I worry about how I will reconcile my ME-ness, with Mother-ness, with ambition and drive.
