Arrivals, Departures, Arrivals

Abandoning my child

Last weekend, I abandoned my child to go to New York City. The purpose was several-fold: attend a screening of a short film a friend and I made, fully wean my daughter, reclaim my identity as a human being, and maybe see some theater. Easy enough!

I channeled my anxiety into packing, setting aside the question of what would happen if my child cried for me while I was sipping a martini in midtown for the question of what coat to bring (the most important packing question one can answer). I settled on a double-breasted camel hair my sister recently passed along to me, figuring it would be a good “transitional” piece. When I stumbled off the red eye into the blistering cold of the Jersey Transit station at Newark the wind whistled through my coat and onto my skin. The coat was a mistake. Perhaps the trip was a mistake?

IMAGE DESCRIPTION: Self-portrait of tired woman (me) reflected in the window of the Newark Jersey Transit station, about 5 AM

This was the first time I’d been back in New York by myself in years. I expected to feel lost and adrift but I quickly snapped back into some former version of myself, impatiently weaving my way through pedestrians. I only started to cry every time I saw another baby, whispering my child’s name silently to myself. I drank cocktails without counting the hours to when my daughter would suck the alcohol out of my body. I felt really sad where when I had nothing to do, but that was like two hours total. Just a moment for melancholy.

IMAGE DESCRIPTION: A truck reading “STAR LAUNDRY: Hotels, Linen, Dry-Cleaning, Drapery, Restaurants” parked on the far side of the street, a blue industrial laundry hamper marked “STAR LAUNDRY” parked on the near side of the street, overflowing with dirty white linens. Only in New York!

There were more people to see and places to go than I could reasonably fit into the hours of the few days, so I settled for what I could fit in. Parts of who I was returned, bit by bit, to greet the parts of who I had become. It turned out they were all in there, together, the whole time.

On the way home, I got to Newark early. Oops. I told myself I’d get work done but instead I drained my phone battery looking at pictures of my child as I ate a boxed lunch from Starbucks. Nearby, a little girl watched a cartoon loudly on her dad’s phone as he sat next to her, on his laptop, not offering headphones. Parenthood has made me more understanding of a lot of things but one of them is not people who let their child watch loud cartoons in public airports. It was really annoying. It still made me miss my baby.

I got back to LA after baby bedtime so I snuck into her room and put my hand on her back, listening to her suck her thumb. A few hours later she woke up crying so my husband brought her into our bed. She curled up right next to me and in doing so told me she still needed me in all my parts—the ones I had forgotten, the ones I had discovered, and the ones I had yet to meet.