Well, this is it: for the first time since my girls were born 13 months ago, I am about to spend the night (and the next three) away. More specifically -- if you must know -- I'm in Tijuana, at a place that rents rooms by the hour. I've got a bottle of tequila and a new friend who says his name is "Juan Smith." We're about to get in his Yugo and drive ten miles from here to do peyote and play strip poker in a double-wide with some Serbian mobster friends of his sister-in-law, so I have to be brief.
Tomorrow morning -- after the peyote has worn off -- I'll go into New York for the AWP conference. I have no real practical reason; it's primarily just for fun, to see various writing friends, and maybe to soak up a little creative inspiration. Some excellent writers will be reading and talking about craft. There will be parties with free drinks, and little bottles of shampoo and body lotion in the hotel room. And for the first time in over a year, I'll be able to sleep late.
I thought that by now, Elsa and Clio would be fully weaned, but they're not. Until two days ago, I was still nursing them first thing in the morning and before bed. On Monday night I didn't nurse them in the evening, but last night they were both grabbing at my shirt, trying to get at the goods, so what's a girl to do? I gave in. And I did end up bringing my pump down here to...er...Tijuana. My plan is to pump in the mornings, so that at least when I get back home, if the gals haven't totally adjusted to life without the boob, I can go back to nursing them once or twice a day. Who would have thought it would be so hard to give this up? I honestly think they're ready, for the most part (last night's booby-grabbing was an aberration). It's me who isn't.
It was tough to say good-bye. Absolutely. And at the same time, I must admit: as I was packing and making plans, I couldn't help feeling a little giddy. Strange -- it's not like it's some huge adventure to spend four days in New York. I grew up an hour outside the city. And before kids, I frequently traveled to far more exotic places, for much longer stretches of time.
But today I found myself getting that old Lonely Planet thrill as I chose what clothes to pack and plotted subway routes, programmed friends' numbers into my cell and tucked a few emergency Luna bars into my suitcase. Driving down to my in-laws' this afternoon (OK, fine; I'm not in Tijuana) it was surprisingly liberating to have it be just me and a stack of CDs in the car. No crying or whining. No acrobatic maneuvers to retrieve lost bottles and pacifiers. And when I arrived, I just got out of the car and went inside and had a glass of wine. No babies to carry. No changing, no feeding, no lugging bags and bags of gear. It was just self-sufficient, self-contained little me again: one suitcase, one purse, one laptop. (And, yeah, one extra bag with the breast pump.) It was a little like reuniting with an old friend: Jane before she was Mama Jane. I remember her! That girls was all right.
And still, at the restaurant we went to for dinner tonight, I was magnetically drawn to the one baby in the place. I came back to the house and started looking at pictures of the girls. I called A. and told him to kiss them -- and himself, barely back from the UK -- for me, repeatedly.
On the balance, though: I'm damned glad to be doing this. I think it will be good for me -- to spend a few days focused purely on me me me. I am determined not to feel guilty about enjoying it. Though it seems like something of a paradox, I do think it is possible to relish the time fully and still miss my family dearly.
In the meantime, the peyote and the strip poker are calling. (My in-laws are crazy like that.) So, Buenas noches, mis amigos. See you in a few.
