Embarking on a business trip often elicits a blend of anxiety and exhilaration for me. The departure is fraught with emotion—I dread the goodbyes, which are often accompanied by quivering lips and tear-filled eyes that seem perfectly timed to make me late, leaving me with a tear-stained collar and a carry-on bag heavy with guilt. But once I board the plane, the narrative shifts.
Upon takeoff, I switch off my phone, insert my earplugs, and—believe it or not—dive into a book! A genuine book, devoid of colorful illustrations or any references to child care. Upon arrival, I check into a hotel, a magnificent sanctuary where I am privileged to occupy my room alone for an entire night. It doesn’t have to be luxurious; I’m not particularly fussy. Whether the sheets boast a 200-thread count or not matters little, as long as I am the sole occupant. The sounds of a rumbling AC or a running toilet are mere white noise to me; I can sleep through anything that isn’t the sound of a tiny human.
When I awaken, feeling refreshed for the first time in what seems like years, I indulge in a leisurely morning routine. I turn on the television to catch the Today Show, briefly pondering the latest escapades of cartoon characters before indulging in real news, equipping myself with knowledge far more relevant than the Spanish word for cheetah (which, by the way, is “guepardo”).
Of course, I will connect with my little ones before bed, expressing faux weariness over my exhausting day of travel (perhaps omitting the delightful details of a smooth flight and a first-class upgrade). I’ll share how desperately I want to return home to tuck them in and inhale the scent of their sweet heads as I kiss them goodnight. But first, I will enjoy dining at a restaurant, whether with other adults or in sweet solitude. There will be no spills to clean, no salt scattered across the table, and no spitballs made from straw wrappers. I will savor a meal uninterrupted, without needing to threaten anyone with the loss of their electronic devices.
Later that evening, I will recline in a bed not marred by a midnight visitor with a leaky Pull-Up. I may briefly wish I were at home, but then I remember that would mean someone coming downstairs, parched and needing a Band-Aid for an imaginary injury, followed shortly by a request for a beloved snuggie. Alas, those issues cannot be resolved tonight, so I’ll pour myself a glass of wine and binge-watch episodes of shows I have recorded on my DVR, knowing I may never get the chance to finish them once I return to my duties as Snuggie Patrol.
However, after a night or two of this indulgent peace, the silence becomes monotonous, and the bed too expansive. I find myself yearning for the chaos of home, rushing back with hugs, kisses, and hastily purchased gifts from the airport, driven by guilt. Surrounded by the delightful mayhem of daily life, I am filled with love and excitement, always glad to be back where I belong.
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Summary
Traveling as a parent is a complex mix of emotions. While the initial departure is often filled with guilt and longing, the experience of solo travel can be liberating. From enjoying uninterrupted meals to indulging in a peaceful night’s sleep, these moments of solitude provide a much-needed respite. However, the joy of returning home to the chaos of family life is always met with open arms and hearts.