The Flying Mamma

It’s nap time. And I’m in between making a nutritious lunch for bubs while snacking on Hershey’s chocolate drops for mine. Lovely. I need to vent. I’ve been on ground for 5 days now.  I was  feeling grateful. Because if I had another job, I know I’d probably never have that much time off.  There, I said it. So I woke up this morning thinking hey, we survived that brutal long ass trip last week. Maybe we can do this. Maybe it’s not so bad. But then my roster changed. And the resentment, anxiousness and shitty mood erupted from every cell in my being. Knowing my son will wake up searching for me. Looking towards the door. Wondering where I’ve disappeared to again. He knows. Before the suitcase even comes out. It’s like he has a sixth sense about it. I try my hardest to masque my energy. But baby boy knows. I hate leaving in the night. I hate leaving in the day. I hate leaving full stop. I’m constantly torn between the way I would love to raise our son and the way it needs t...

I’m home! But before I could shower and curl up with my baby bear, I had a buffet of breast milk to sort and put in the freezer.  I’ll definitely dedicate a future entry to pumping, breast pumps and storage of milk; especially while travelling. How does that sound? So after stripping my makeup off and showering the remnants of the flight off me, I snuck into bed with my boys. Ahhhhh. Finally. 5 days craving for this very moment. I hugged my son gently, not wanting to wake him. But half hoping he would. One of my breast pump’s batteries didn’t survive the mid-flight pump (I swear I charged it!), so I had one side in need of a good emptying and hormonal wakeup.  Why? Because considering the amount of hours passed since properly pumping, it wasn’t bursting like it usually would.  I’m not surprised, after so many days of artificially stimulating breastmilk secretion with a pump. Without getting stuck into this (because it also deserves a dedicated entry,) it goes to show the ...

I’m sat here. Bawling. I’ve got breast milk I’ve pumped that I have to dump. And 4 more days before I can hold my son. Watching him sleep through the camera. Imagining him close. Inhaling his little curls and snuggling all night. When rosters are released, we spend a lot of time trying to rearrange our flights. Doing everything to minimise the time our son spends without us. But. We also get “standby” months. No roster. Just our souls, ready and available. Day by day. I’ve been dreading it.  D R E A D I N G it since coming back from maternity leave. Wondering how we’d cope when we’d be rostered for it - let alone both of us together. I felt sick. Siiiiiccckkk.  Imagine not knowing if you are leaving or for how long. Intriguing? I can assure you that it’s absolutely not. It’s nerve wracking enough if you’ve got cats, let alone children. So standby, in  the middle of the night. After 4 days off. You know what that means?  Legality wise in aviation, it translates to wel...

I was waiting a lot in the beginning. Waiting for weird ass cravings. Waiting for smells to turn me off. Waiting to vomit. But nothing.  Feeling no different to any other day for the first 5 or 6 months. Cucumber was the only culprit, giving me rib breaking indigestion. And  I was also graced with a 24 hour bout of vertigo. Had me feeling like I was on a long distance hangover. While all the waiting was happening, we had a long list of tests on our fancy antenatal package to get through. We were that overwhelmed that we just said yes. Covered by insurance? Yes. Out of pocket? Yes.  “What if?” we said. “Book us in!” We said. Did you know you don’t actually need to do any of it? Not even one ultrasound? Now this bewildered me.  Because we’ve subconsciously been conditioned to consider pregnancy, labour and childbirth to be some sort of medically controlled state. We’ve forgotten that since the beginning of time, women have conceived and given birth.  Wild and free...