I Don't Think I Can Do It

My husband's company sends all employees on an all-expenses paid trip somewhere tropical if they surpass their numbers for the year. The trip was supposed to fall this month, and I told my husband up front that there was simply no way I could go. With Little Man being only 4 months old, there would be no way I would be comfortable enough to leave him for three days, even if we were leaving him with my parents, who I trust just about as much as I trust myself.

He was super sad. Understandably. He felt like he had earned the trip, and after the stress of having two kids in two years with zero vacations, felt like the break would be welcome. But then he thought about leaving me behind, to deal with our two children on my own, while he was boozing and resting it up on a beach somewhere. He thought about how much that would eat away at him while he was there, and how he wouldn't really be able to enjoy himself when he was constantly feeling guilty about being there with me being here. So he told his company he couldn't go. My hero.

Then, THEN, there was an email from the company saying too many people couldn't go, so they were bumping the trip back to the end of January of next year, and he forwarded the email to me with "OMFGGGGGGGGG!!" as his only commentary. My husband simply doesn't lose control like that in emails. To have multiple Gs and TWO exclamation points made clear to me that he was beside himself with joy. He felt like his deciding to do the right thing and stay home the first time was now being karmically rewarded by a trip that was late enough where we could both go. And I just couldn't tell him no.

So I said yes. Yes, I'd leave my 8-month-old baby behind with my parents (not to mention what we'd do with our 2-yr-old . . . an extended weekend with my ILs . . . ack) and haul my pump down to Latin America for a 3-day vacation. He gave me some grief about the pump, asking if we could just dump all the milk while we were there so that I wouldn't have to worry about things like not drinking and the logistics of getting all that milk back with us. I may or may not have snapped back at him to never ever ever never mention dumping any of my milk ever for any reason.

So he dropped the subject. But I didn't. I kept thinking about the damn trip. About the stress of having to pump 4-5 times a day, of not being able to go on excursions, of having to constantly excuse myself, of risking a supply dip from solely pumping for three days, of risking a nursing strike upon my return, of how much I would(n't) *really* be able to relax worrying about all of those details and then heaping upon that worry the worry of what are my kids doing, what are they eating, are they sleeping, are they crying, what are they wearing, omg I need to hear their voices! And every time I thought about the trip, my stomach would knot and my heart would thump a little harder in my chest.

And then, once, a couple of days ago, I allowed myself to think, what if I don't go? And the relief, oh the sweet relief, was palpable. I could spend the weekend with my kids. I wouldn't have to worry about looking like I'm trying to have fun while really dying on the inside. I could nurse Little Man like normal and not have to worry about any of the 100 things I was worrying about when it came to pumping for three days while on vacation in a foreign country. And TH could still get his vacation. My parents could still come in for the weekend and spend time with us, so I wouldn't be on my own the whole time, and he would still get his trip and his fun that he earned.

It's not that I'm one of those moms who can't leave her kids. I can. I have (my oldest, at least). I appreciate me time. I miss vacations with my husband. But I don't feel bad about not being ready to leave my 8-month-old, who is still nursing around the clock and more often than not, not sleeping through the night. Give me a year. Give me until he's weaned. Give me until my body belongs just to me again so that I can really and truly enjoy the break without worrying about making sure I still devote my body to my obligations and responsibilities to my baby.

It's not that I've opted out of the trip. Not yet, anyway. When I think about not going, it makes me sad that I'm going to miss something so fun. But the stress I feel when I think about going outweighs the sadness I feel when I think about missing it.

And what I hope is that my husband can see that. That he can understand my obligations and responsibilities. That he can understand my need to be around for the first year. That he can forgive me staying home and taking away the couple's vacation he had dreamed about sharing with me.

That he has faith that, in time, it will be our time again. It's just not right now. It's just not yet.