Gratitude (long post)

I wasn't in the middle of anything particularly significant or special; I was fixing my kid's breakfast or lunch. I'm sure I was feeling tired and openly looking forward to his nap later so I could have time to rest or catch up on housework or whatever. I think I was waiting on something to finish cooking on the stove or in the microwave, and I looked over at the back of my kid's head as he sat in the adjacent dining room, eating Cheerios while he watched Tec the Tractor on the laptop (yes, I'm the bad mom who lets her kid have screen time while I get his food ready to keep him from whining and trying to escape his high chair). At first I felt a "oh, just another mundane morning in our lives" type of feeling, which, I admit, sometimes makes me a little wistful for my life before I was a mom. But then, as I have done almost constantly on a daily basis since it was revealed to the public, I thought about the children and parents who were separated when they came to the US border to seek asylum. It hit me like a ton of bricks: I am the luckiest bitch that ever was.

Here I am, standing in the kitchen of my house, with a bounty of food to fill my baby's belly, with running water and electricity, with AIR CONDITIONING, with my husband upstairs getting dressed, with my dog and my cat hanging out ready to eat food that my kid throws on the floor, with nothing to do today because it's the weekend, with a stable job waiting for me on Monday, with my car in the driveway, with no fear of untimely death or disease or violence on the near horizon, with EVERYTHING I COULD POSSIBLY NEED. But most importantly, my family is mere steps away from me. My baby is safe and sound, sitting there waiting for me to feed him breakfast but enjoying the video he's watching on the internet while he waits. My husband is upstairs getting dressed and will later do yard work and watch the kid so I can go spend time with dear friends who I haven't seen in months. After that, I will take my kid to his grandparent's house who love the shit out of him and he might swim in their pool and definitely get to play with an abundance of toys and see his aunts and uncles who also love him to death. I want for nothing. My child has everything he needs and an army of family and friends who love him beyond words. And the cruel reality is that there are so many men, women and children in the world who have a fraction of the opportunities, luxuries and comforts that we have, if that.

I won't lie; I used to not give much notice to local, national or world politics. I didn't pay attention because that stuff didn't affect me. What did I care about laws regarding public education or healthcare? That stuff didn't apply to me. I was young and privileged and worried about boys and mean girls and shopping at the mall and shit. It honestly wasn't until 9/11 happened that I actually started to take heed and care more about the world I live in and the people that coexist with me. I actually started forming my own opinions about social issues and politics and people and that kind of shit, whereas before I would just go along with whatever I was told was right and wrong by my parents. To admit that to myself now feels a little shameful, but it is was it is. I guess I figure we all have those defining moments in our lives when change and transition occur.

When I became a mom, I opened up a whole new level of crazy. I am crazy in love with my baby. I am crazy worried about him all the time. I am crazy obsessed with doing everything right and being a good parent. I am crazy in the fact that I crave time alone but when I get it, all I think about is when I get to be with my kid again. I had a co-worker tell me that once I became a parent, I would cry all the time, at anything and nothing. And man, it's so true. I can shed tears at the drop of a hat. I should pursue a career in soap opera acting right fucking now. Everything makes me cry and FEEL. I really do have all the feels now. So when I see these images and read these stories and think about these parents being separated from their children, I feel pain and sadness and rage. I feel despair and hopelessness. Dude, it's not even me that's going through this shit show right now, and I feel broken by this situation. I literally cannot imagine what these people are going through.

Think about it: you're trying to escape a horrible situation, whether it be gang violence, domestic violence or anything like it. You are probably fairly poor. You have very few options, but the one option you do have is to try and make it to another country where you'll have a better chance of watching your babies grow up safe. So you sell off your belongings, you say goodbye to family and friends and you travel--hitchhike or walk or whatever--towards a light at the end of a tunnel of your impossible situation. And when you finally reach the end of that tunnel, after weeks or months of traveling with young children which has to suck in so many ways, you find yourself arrested, detained and separated from your babies. Your heart and soul. They're ripped away from you and you don't know where and you don't speak the language and you have no money and you don't think there is anyone who can advocate for you. All you wanted was to be safe and for your children to be safe. And now you don't know where they are because they were taken from you. THAT IS INSANE.

There are a lot of things that we can be passionate about. We can care about all the things, all the time, and there's certainly no shortage: refugees, famine, access to clean water, democracy, freedom, the environment, gun control, natural disasters, healthcare, animal rights, human rights, starvation, war, human trafficking, gay rights, racism, violence, etc. I embrace my bleeding heart, and even though sometimes I feel like worrying about all these things is not a healthy place to be, mentally, I feel it's my duty as a privileged person in this world to do so. Refugee parents being separated from their kids has almost completely consumed my mind and my heart. The idea of not knowing where your child is, is inconceivable to me. I've spent hours reading about the topic, agonizing about the pain that both the parents and the kids are going through HERE, IN THE UNITED STATES, A FIRST WORLD COUNTRY. WHAT. THE FUCK. 

I'm not entirely sure what this post should focus in on, but the point I wanted to make in all my ramblings is this: I am the luckiest. And I hope I never take that lightly or for granted. My kid and I won the fucking life lottery here, and I hope that even in the most mundane of moments, I feel extreme gratitude for all that I have. I hope I raise a child who understands this and can express empathy for those less fortunate than him.  So much suffering is happening all around us, and we cannot sit idly by and be ok with it. 

Taking this shit show on the road!

I once had a co-worker tell me that after his kid was born, they didn't leave the house for the first couple years. They didn't take vacations, trips, outings, visits to grandma's house...nothing. Why? Because of all the shit you have to take along for the kid. I remember thinking, "oh it's probably not that bad; you're exaggerating." After my kid was born, I certainly did feel like there was a lot of stuff to remember to take with you, even for just a trip to the store or a visit at someone's house. But it was manageable and really not that big of a deal.

Fast forward to our first road trip with our one year old. Wow. So. Much. Stuff. I think I spent $200 on stuff for the kid: food and snacks (perishable and non-), baby-proofing equipment for the hotel, drinks, hand wipes, sunscreen, meds, toiletries. And then I had to organize everything in two totes. And I had to make sure the diaper bag was stocked. Also, don't forget the pack n play with mattress, umbrella stroller, baby carrier, bag of 1,000 diapers and wipes, my own suitcase, cooler for perishables.... *ragged breathing* I thought packing a suitcase for myself was just about the worst chore in the world. This took my hatred of packing to the next level, because it forced me to plan ahead of time and buy shit ahead of time and start the packing process ahead of time since I was packing for a small army of one. If you know me well, you know I'm the person who's still packing at 2am when the flight is at 8am and I've accomplished nothing despite the fact that I started packing at 7pm because I thought drinking would make the chore more tolerable but oh look it just made me too drunk to get anything done. Yep.

So our strategy was to leave in the evening after dinner so that we could eat at home as usual, put the kid in his jammies and head out with the hope that he would ride for an hour or so and then fall asleep. We ended up getting out of the house about an hour past what we'd planned (no surprise there), but it worked out pretty well because he rode just fine until he fell asleep. We drove about halfway, until about 2am and then checked into a hotel to get some sleep. (Aside: I had never booked a room before at 2am, and it wouldn't actually let you do it online, so I had to call on the phone and book the room! On the phone! Whaaaaa??) We successfully transferred the sleeping kid from the car to the hotel room, but of course the little booger woke up when we took him out of his car seat. Luckily, he only stayed awake for a few minutes-- confused by the hotel room since he had fallen asleep in the car and also fascinated with the light on the thermostat. Eventually he did fall asleep, and we got a taste of what co-sleeping is like with a one year old. For me, it wasn't too bad because in his perpendicular position, I had the head side, and the hubs got the feet end.

The next day, we ate a nutritious McDonalds breakfast in the room while my kid ran around exploring all the new, unfamiliar ways to hit his head on stuff in the room. Then we were back on the road for several more hours of driving. Again, the kid rode like a champ. It's challenging to find ways to "entertain" a toddler who can't yet form words or sentences, but lots of singing and handing snacks over to him seemed to do the trick. Plus, my kid likes staring out the window at the other cars and trucks anyway.

The journey home was a little different in terms of time of day we departed, but I couldn't have asked for a better experience with the nugget. We left after a late lunch and pretty much decided we were going to drive straight through. No joke, the kid fell asleep like 20 minutes into the ride, despite having had a nap like three hours earlier. He slept until I made the judgment call to stop for dinner while there was still daylight and wake him up so that we didn't have to deal with an alert, hungry child at 9pm while searching for an open restaurant in BFE. Probably the best mom call I've made to date. We woke him up, ate some dinner, ran around the parking lot of Wendy's for about 20 minutes, changed into jammies and got back on the road. It didn't take too long for him to fall asleep again, and he slept until we rolled back into town and got home around 1am.

I don't mean to brag, but I'm gonna, because the idea of traveling with a one year old scared the shit out of me. My kid's first time on an airplane was GOLDEN. My kid's first road trip in a car was GOLDEN. I know I've probably jinxed myself for future travels, but I've gotta say it--hell, shout it from the rooftops: MY KID WINS THE GOLD MEDAL FOR TRAVELING THIS YEAR. Let's hope this winning streak continues! *fingers crossed*