On Traveling With a Two Week Old
By Madeline Pratt
The first time I traveled after my second son was born, he wasn’t even two weeks old. I remember shuffling onto the airplane with him nestled into my sweating cleavage, the Ergo carrier strapped to my aching shoulders and hips. One hand out behind me holding onto his brother’s hand as we made our way slowly towards our seats.
“How old is your baby?”
One of the flight attendants asked. It felt like every woman on the plane seemed to have their eyes glued to the tiny bundle on my chest.
“Two weeks.”
I mumbled avoiding eye contact and the disapproving glances. The flight attendant let out an audible gasp.
“Oh. Wow. That’s so little.”
We finally found our way to our seats and settled in, and I said a silent prayer that things would go smoothly on the flight. The guilt of taking a tiny baby on an airplane ride before he had even gotten comfortable and familiar with his home outside my body weighed on on me so heavily I was half surprised the plane was even able to take off. I’ve never been so grateful to have my own mother sitting right beside me.
In hindsight, I probably could have skipped the conference. But in my slightly manic pregnant brain, I felt like I had to go. The tickets for the event had cost a couple of thousand dollars and were purchased over a year in advance before I had even got pregnant, and I felt like I would be letting everyone down by not going. In all reality, I had no idea how insane it was to travel so soon after having a baby. Although, in my well-laid plans, that baby would have come on time, or even early, as the midwives had suggested he might, which would have put 4 weeks between his due date and my take off to San Francisco.
In the final weeks of the pregnancy, we got big news. We learned that my husband would be hired for a new firefighting position, an exciting and highly anticipated moment he had been working towards for almost two years time. It also meant he would be working those days I would be traveling. Without a second thought, I donned the same attitude I always had. I would make it work. I even claimed I would make it fun. I would take both boys with me to San Francisco, along with my mother to help look after them. I’d be able to be present for the conference while still being with my baby. It was the best of both worlds, I thought. I’d pump between sessions, and take breaks when I needed it. I would make it work.
Luckily for me, my mom was free, and although I could tell when I told her the plan that she thought it was slightly insane, she knew better than to argue with me as I was approaching three days overdue with her grandchild. But by the time he was out of my body 11 days later, I was dreading even the thought of the trip. I couldn’t even really care for myself and my new baby, let alone my other son in a faraway city. By the time we landed in San Francisco, I had only one goal in mind: to get through the next four days and get home.
What unfolded at the conference was the most intense immersion into the new reality of my new life as a working mother. With my firstborn, I had stayed home for a whole year before going back to school part-time. I had healed privately in the comforts of home and spent much of my time alone with my new baby. Round 2 could not have been more opposite. There I was marching down the crowded Embarcadero with my newborn strapped to my chest, wincing every so often and crossing my fingers that I wouldn’t bleed through my post-partum padding. I felt alive but also exposed, and more than anything, a little bit delirious.
The daytime was spent in conference sessions, listening to speakers and thought leaders from all corners of the tech world talk about big & ambitious ideas. I remember gently caressing my soft, fleshy belly beneath my drapey silk top, feeling oddly vacant and alone after having been pregnant for more than 10 months. Between sessions I would race upstairs or to the dedicated pumping room, feeling like an on-demand set of udders on a strict schedule to make sure the hungry baby stayed fed.
The boundaries between my body and his tiny one still felt so blurred. By the last day, I had started to feel a dull ache in my chest when I was apart from him for over an hour, and I decided I was going to take him down to the conference with me. I timed our excursion with his nap, waiting until just before he dozed off to strap him to my chest and then made my way downstairs and into the very back of a completely packed panel discussion. I remember swaying and rocking the entire hour in the back of that big conference room, feeling like I could finally break again with my baby close to me.
When the session ended, I made my way to the breakout space, my little guy still sleeping contentedly in his carrier. I felt brazen and a little badass, brushing past other conference-goers that seemed to be without a care in the world, although having a huge piece of mine strapped to my front. Waiting in line for a coffee, I couldn’t help but notice a woman to my right whose eyes were fixated on my front pack.
“Is that a baby?”
She asked, her eyes widening as she spoke.
“Yes.”
I said back quietly, trying to hide my distrust of the question at hand. To my surprise, her entire face broke into a smile.
“How old?”
She said, inching forward and peering into the carrier at the mop of dark brown baby fuzz sticking out the top.
“He’s two weeks old.”
I whispered, leaning forward so she could see the teeny tiny face that was nestled into me. Neither of us spoke for a few seconds, we were both swept up in the moment, in awe of this little person. Finally, she looked up at me and said
“You’re amazing. For having him and bringing him here. It’s incredible."
My heart swelled and tears instantly came to my eyes.
“Thank you.”
I whispered back.
And in that moment, I felt it all. The exhaustion. The responsibility. The guilt. The worry. And more than anything, the magic. The magic of making this little life while choosing to still make a life that felt like my own. And the gift of being able to have him and bring him along for the ride, no matter how crazy it might have seemed.
