The Dichotomy of Motherhood

I woke earlier, much earlier than strictly necessary given that I had mostly packed the night before. But I get nervous about being late when I fly somewhere. I sleepily added the last few items to my bag before zipping my suitcase and kissing Brandon goodbye. I knew I would stop at the 24-hour Dutch Bros. for some much needed caffeine for the hour drive to the airport. I would catch an early morning flight, traveling alone and enjoying the solitude of it. It could have been any other trip on any other day.

But this time was different. Before heading out the door on this particular morning, I quietly snuck into a dimly lit nursery to peak at the sweet baby I had held just a little bit longer the night before. He was still so new to the world and to me. And I was leaving him for the first time.

That’s the dichotomy I would settle into for the first time over the following days - enjoying the chance to travel, even if for work, while also feeling a tug to the piece of my heart I left behind. I certainly miss Brandon when I travel, but this was a unique and new kind of missing.

I felt it in the moments I sat sipping wine, alternating between staring out of the airplane window at the view below and looking through pictures of Harrison’s first two months of life on my phone.

I felt it while reveling in the luxury of having a nice hotel room all to myself while simultaneously missing the feel of Harrison in my arms.

I felt it when eating at a favorite restaurant and dreaming about the first time I get to share Torchy’s queso with my son, among so many other firsts.

I felt it in the distraction I frequently experienced during the conference I attended. Learning and stretching my brain made me feel like myself as a person, not only a mom, but I would find my thoughts easily drifting to what was happening at home.

I certainly felt it while taking a food tour of Denver and then perusing a bookstore, favorite activities that I could do without having to worry about when the next nap or bottle would be. But in that same bookstore my eyes drifted immediately to the children’s books, where I picked out something for my son.

I felt it in looking forward to an uninterrupted night of sleep, yet spending the final moments before bed wishing I could reach through FaceTime and bring my baby to where I was so I could smother his increasingly squishy face with kisses.

I never worried about my son. Brandon is an excellent father and I knew he was in good hands. In fact, I think Brandon was more worried than I was, although his fears centered on something happening that would prevent me from coming home.

But I missed him. Desperately. I missed him so deeply at times that I could physically feel his absence.

And it felt good to be away from him, momentarily unencumbered by the intensity of the day-to-day of motherhood. Perhaps admitting that makes me a terrible mother, but I think it just makes me a mother.

I know this won’t be my last trip away from Harrison and I imagine it never gets truly easier, just hard in different ways. I think I may always feel these opposite pulls on my heart - my son and home and my urge toward career and travel and exploration. Ultimately, I want my son to see that - my deep, unconditional, expansive love for him and my ability to be my own person apart from him, someone who is smart and curious and adventurous. Because I want him to be those things, too.