If you had to hear my incessant bitching regarding our first flight experience with the babes, you will be happy to know we fulfilled our vow to avoid flying with them for years to come.
Oh, yes we did, and as a result bought a second home…
You would have thought our flight experience would have been enough to convince us that a travel trailer was a must, yet we toyed with the idea… as I have unbridled fear of commitment.
The kicker was when I realized I found myself using the word NO more than I had ever intended… I cringed when I started to identify the implications that I am constantly redirecting behaviors that include observation, exploration, and boundary pushing… what the fuck am I doing, I thought to myself.
It was at that moment a home away from home became a necessity.
A place where NO is limited and observation, exploration, and boundary pushing activities, intentions, and behaviors are fostered. A place where being a mother is taken out of context and ultimately out of my comfort zone. A time to wander the elusive road that is known to be less traveled.
In truth, I needed to lighten up.
I am a social worker… yep, I tell people daily to navigate with eyes wide open. I know the ramifications of the past and how it is often used to shield the future. What I don’t know is how to abandon control… what it is to be a child. There is a story lodged in the spaces between those words, however, another day… another time.
As what we have here is our first attempt… strategically planned 24 hours, and I will tell you it will take several more for me to truly find solitude in letting go. For being a mama bird means forever trying to protect my babes and pulling a 31’ trailer behind us at speeds upward of 70 miles an hour down dusty highways and around blind turns made for many dirty looks, exaggerated seat shifting, using the word dude, and the occasional… what the fuck man until we arrived at our destination.
I can tell you, the first night was, thus far our only night. Nothing like boisterous thunderstorms and eccentric lightning dances, lasting for 6 hours plus, to make one thankful not to be in a tent. As expected our babes refused to sleep, this has been a regular treat at home as of late, and in this case surrender occurred. Placing me with Bell in the queen size bed, and my husband with Pistol in a twin size bunk… clinging on to warmth with the infant sized crochet blanket left behind by Bell.
Although my husband is a hero, it is no picnic to sleep with Bell. This babe rotates in her sleep; I equate her to an Australian Shepard herding sheep, and I ultimately find myself hugging the edge of the mattress. Not to mention her random screams in the middle of the night when she stirs and realizes her “ba ba” is not in her mouth. As a result, triggering my fight or flight response in my attempt to locate the elusive “ba ba”. Yet, she sleeps soundly through the ever so daunting pounding rain and snaps of thunder. I remember multiple times, that night, thinking my husband was walking around the trailer as it swayed from side to side… attempting to call out to him in a pathetic whisper as to not wake the beast next to me.