I want to start off by disclosing that I am no longer using ChatGPT to generate the images for this blog due to the political ties that it has. Bear with me as I try to figure out how best to create images, and I will take any suggestions!

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Our bags are packed and all ready to go. They have been for weeks now, actually. We are all set to travel internationally for a cousin’s wedding this weekend. Just my husband and me. No stroller, no snack bag, no one melting down and writhing on the floor screaming as we pass through security. And yet, I have been sitting with a very specific, very powerful kind of anxiety for the past week. The kind that hums underneath everything. The kind that makes my chest feel heavy. The kind where I feel tingling in my fingers and toes. (EMDR really teaches you to pinpoint where you feel in your body!!)

We both never left the kids over night together for the first six years of parenting, besides going to the hospital to have the next child. 6 years!! Last year, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law had a baby and graciously gave us the honor of meeting our newest family member. Dh and I went alone without the kids, and it felt refreshing to get away for the first time. Later that year we went to Europe for our cousin’s wedding, and that was loads of fun (and drinks!) Each of those times, my parents and nanny along with my brother and sister-in-law helped to take care of the kids. I felt like we had a lot of support and the kids would be fine. This time, my brother and sister-in-law are traveling too, so it will be just my parents and nanny.

I know they will be okay. That is not even a question. I also recognize that I am one of the lucky ones, since we have a village, a real one. The kind that shows up, that knows the boys by name, that knows V is the most picky eater about trying new foods, that knows H gets very wild and cranky when he is overtired, that knows A never tells you when he poops in his diaper and it leaks EVERYWHERE, and that knows D will terrorize his brothers and then cry after to get some attention. These are people who love my kids almost as fiercely as I do, and I do not take that for granted for even one single second.

And still.

There is something that happens to you when you become a parent. I don’t know exactly when it kicks in, maybe when your baby locks eyes with you for the first time or the first time the baby has a fever at 2 am and starts chattering their teeth. Your whole body goes into a kind of alert mode that you didn’t even know existed in you. And that alertness is blaring all the time. So somewhere along the way, leaving started to feel different and heavier. Even when leaving is something I have earned and deserve.

Before having kids, I ran out the door to board a plane at the very last minute with some excitement and maybe a quick coffee. Now I pause at the door. I do a mental scan of the checklist that I made for the kids. And I also wonder, did I hug them this morning? Did I tell V I am proud of him? Did I say I love you to them? They actually have been pushing us out, encouraging us to take this trip so they can get their toy that we promise them every time we leave. “Go mama, just go!!” AHH!! Why don’t they want me to stay??

I also pause at the door because the world is a lot right now. I don’t think I need to spell that out more in detail. We are all feeling it. It has become a permanent fixture in daily life, a soft hum of “Is everything okay in the world?” I know anything can happen at any time, even while driving to work. It is just when you are about to put an ocean between yourself and your babies, all of that noise gets a little louder.

I also want to be honest about the privilege of this moment. Not everyone has a village. Not everyone has family who steps in without hesitation or has the financial ability to travel internationally. I am acutely aware that this anxiety I’m feeling, a sort of luxurious worry, only exists because I already have so much safety around me. Some moms don’t have the option to leave. Some don’t have anyone to call. I hold that truth gently alongside my own feelings because both things can be real at the same time.

So yes, I am nervous. I am doing the mental math on time zones and wondering if I’ll be able to hear a tantrum in real time on the Wyze camera and offer my support. I know I will still peek in and check in on them sleeping. Checking the temperatures in their room. Even if it is at 3am. I have made a cheat sheet with a list of tips on how to help V in the middle of the night when he gets a nose bleed, on how to comfort H when he gets a bad dream, on where to find the clothes I am laying out in case A has an accident, and on how to settle D when he cries in the middle of the night. All the things a mom knows best on how to quickly provide comfort to her kids and keep them calm and happy. I keep coming up with scenarios and making a play-by-play on how to tackle them.

To every parent reading this who is about to leave, or who wishes she could, or who feels guilty just for wanting to: you are not alone. The pause at the door is love. And then you walk through it anyway. We can conquer our palpable anxieties together in this world. Motherhood really bonds us in that way. 🫶🏽

And as I stand here, I can’t help but think of the doors that don’t lead to a vacation. I think of the parents who aren’t pausing because of a ‘luxurious worry,’ but because the world around them is truly on fire. If only every parent could provide that comfort to their children, all over the world. In this moment, when the world is on fire, the guilt that comes over me really makes me wish that opportunity to care for their children is universal. It breaks my heart that children in different parts of this world are having to endure the struggles that they do. I wish that fate was kinder to all.