Full Circle

My kids are way past the infant stage of waking in the night to wail for milk, and yet I'm still up too late and too early, losing sleep with a baby bottle in my hands. Only this time, I'm not using the baby bottle to care for a screaming infant.

This time I'm across the country without my kids, busy caring for a baby bottle itself-a brand spanking newborn baby bottle that demands a lot of love and attention. A baby bottle that my business partners and I unveiled to the juvenile products industry today. (Shameless self promotion: check it out. It's uber hip and it works darn good too).

This is only my second business trip since I've been a mom. In five years I have flown away from my kids exactly four times total: two for pleasure, two for business, and if I told you it didn't get any easier, I'd be lying. The first time I got on a plane after I had W I practically had to straight jacket myself into the window seat to keep from sprinting back home to see if his little nose needed wiping. This time, I barely thought about the consequences of my potential fiery sky-crash death to the children's psyches as the plane peeled off the SFO runway and delivered me into the sweet sky of childless airline travel. I read a whole book during the journey to Orlando. A whole one. I read through other children crying, through turbulence, and through an intense desire to urinate. Nothing could deter me because I didn't have to answer to anyone or anything. I sat in the inner silence of the knowledge that no matter who or what made noise around me, there would be no discipline or soothing demands made of me.

Once on the ground, I relished in an unencumbered trip to the restroom during which I did not need to hold the stall door partially open so I could trap my two boys within my sight while doing my best to hover over the bowl and preclude the need for a seat cover. That's right, I actually pulled a seat cover out and used it at a leisurely pace and with full back of the leg contact. It's the little things.

Then, I called home. My husband and littlest guy gave me goos and loveyou's. Nearly five-year-old W screamed his ass off at me.

"Hi!" I exclaimed when he picked up the phone.

"Mommy?" he said, "MOMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! COME HOME! NOW! Come HOME!" I could feel the heat in his face, his chunky diced-onion tears stinging his cheeks. I felt like I was caught in a dream where I'd just committed murder. You know those dreams. The ones where you know you've done the unimaginable and you know your life is over and you just wish so hard, so hard, that it was a dream? That feeling.

"Honey," I crumbled, "I'll be home soon."

"NOW!" he screamed. "I want you home NOW!"

"Me too," I said. And that quickly I wished I really was home.

"Well." I turned to CEOMom, my business partner, after I hung up. "That sucked."

"I'm sorry," she said. And I knew she really was. That's one of the beautiful things about doing business with other moms in an industry that is targeted at moms and makes products for babies. Ain't no shame in missing your kids. It still hurts, but at least there's no fear of being slighted because you're a parent. In fact, we moms that fight to be and work at home most of the time are celebrated as "experts" because we are regarded as part of the target audience for our products. How nice is that? So, heartstrings pulled and bad dream feeling and all, I reminded myself I was lucky. I reminded myself that I had needed a little break from home. Plus, I reasoned and hoped, the next morning maybe the boys would feel just fine.

What I didn't hope was that they would feel quite as fine as they did.

"Hi Mommy!" W said when, the next afternoon, with extreme trepidation I lay down (by the glistening hotel pool reflecting 80 degree Florida sunshine) and called home.

"Phew," I said. "I miss you buddy. How are you?"

"Fine," he said. "Um, did you get my Gators jersey yet?"

"Uh."

"Love you!" he said, "But did you get the jersey yet?"

"Looking for it," I said, unsure whether I was pleased with his non-chalance or crushed at the abatement of his Mommy-on-a-trip mourning period.

"Mommy?" B got on the phone.

"Hi B!" I said. "I love you."

"Mommy?" he said. "Get my Gators jersey yet?"

It's now the third day of my trip and I'm still trying to hold them off with "I'm looking for it." I'm just praying that tomorrow when I get to the airport there will be a gift shop with Florida Gator basketball jerseys for sale because if not, I don't think they'll even let me back in through the front door. At least that bad dream feeling has been washed away. I know I haven't done the unimaginable by leaving my boys in their very capable daddy's hands for a few days. I know the brief pain they felt at missing me can be erased or at least forgotten with a simple orange tank topped offering. It is indeed the little things.