For every mom who travels, the worst part is leaving baby behind. Alex spent the first year plus of his life tagging along with me on every long haul and short overnight. As a result, one of his first words is “vamos,” Spanish meaning “to go.” He can already snap himself into his car seat. And, he’s not the kid that can stay home even for a day without at least a trip to the park, the market, the neighbors or some faraway place.
Now that he’s approaching the terrible 2s, it’s harder to make a professional presentation at an international conference when your child is running laps around the auditorium. After all, when do you leap off the stage to make sure that he doesn’t fall off the chairs he’s climbed onto? Should you hold him in your arms in front of a crowd of a few hundred to answer questions? At what point do you step out of the round table discussion when you can, and everyone in the hall can, hear him screaming rooms away? How tolerant is the Board of Trustees when you have to stop the meeting to clean up the cheerios, and chips, and juice ground into the board table? And, when do you pretend he’s not your kid and just let the person who kindly volunteered to ‘watch’ him for you take the heat? (All true Alex and mom stories!)
A few weeks ago, Alex was left behind for the first time in the arms of loving friends for 48 hours when dad and mom’s schedules collided and we jetted off to different parts of the US. I worried for weeks prior, documented endless details for babysitters, stocked the house with enough food, toys and other resources to last for weeks, and then left. I spend most of the flight imaging every worst case scenario – earthquakes, hurricanes, plane crashes, car accidents, and a few more less realistic disasters. I ticked off the trip hour-by-hour, refrained from calling to ‘check in’ every 10 minutes, and hoped for the best. In the end, everyone survived. Alex missed his parents. The babysitters should get purple stars for their efforts. And, even I endured.
Next week, Alex will stay home alone again as I fly south, and dad flies north. I’m no less worried than last time, but at least I know we’ll make it through the experience….oh, unless I get kidnapped by the Mexican mafia, attacked by chupacabras, or detained by immigration. Until then…check out our ChaChaCha (below). Hasta La Vista, Baby!
