Chirky

I woke up this morning to fog. Lots and lots of fog, and behind that fog I have a pretty amazing view of San Diego's skyline and waterfront. I mean, I'm assuming it's amazing. I only saw it late last night, with the city twinkling around me and hundreds of yachts docked below. I'm in San Diego for work - BlogHer '11 will be held here this August (Are you coming? Please tell me you'll be here, and that we'll get to meet up!) - and this is only the second time I've been away from my baby.

The first time, last September, I was only gone for about 36 hours, but those were 36 hours filled with anxiety. And maybe a few tears. Maybe more than a few tears. I probably wasn't ready to leave her quite yet, even if Roger's parents did happen to be in town and she was in very good hands. When I found out I would be traveling, I was still nursing four times a day. I cut down to three by the time I left town, and had just enough of a frozen supply at home to cover the trip. That also meant I had to take my pump with me to San Francisco.

Now, let's digress: Breastfeeding moms, have you ever had to use an electric pump while also traveling? It is not easy. I needed to pump in the airport, but couldn't find any nursing rooms, and there were no electrical outlets in the bathroom - or in any individual stalls. I actually checked every single stall that was available. I decided to wait, drive to my hotel, and pump there - but then I got lost, called the office, and decided to head straight to the restaurant where everyone was meeting. I checked the bathrooms at the restaurant - no electrical supply, other than in the open area of the bathroom, and I was almost desperate enough to use that outlet (despite how awkward it might be for anyone who walked into the restroom while I was ... occupied). I found the hostess and asked if there was anywhere else I could pump, before settling into the bathroom. She led me upstairs, to an unused part of the restaurant. And there I sat, out in the open loft, at a dining table tucked away behind the stairs, thankful that I was wearing a scarf. For modesty. Don't even get me started when my flight home was delayed and I needed to pump in the airport, without anywhere (or any way) to do it.

(For everyone who has not breastfed, I will explain it this way: Imagine you drank 64 ounces of water an hour ago, your bladder is about to burst, and there are no restrooms, and no way to relieve yourself, so you remain in discomfort trying to figure out where you can go to take care of business. Your bladder starts cramping, you think you might actually DIE from not peeing, and you start eyeing that plant in the corner very conspicuously. THAT is sort of what it's like, except you don't have to plug your bladder into a wall to make it do something useful.)

Fast forward to today. My daughter is totally weaned. She is, again, in good hands (thank you, Mom!). I'm gone for a little longer this time - though not by much - and I'm completely worry-free. It makes a difference, I think. Despite the short trip, I still miss her little laugh. I miss how she squeals and buries herself in pillows, how she talks and mischievously explores my bedside table while we're getting ready in the mornings. I miss her when I think about how much she would love all the windows in this room, standing on her tippy-toes trying to get a better look outside. But I'll see her Friday morning, and it will be so much fun to wrap my arms around her and lift her out of her crib, give her an enormous hug, and watch as she flings herself into all the pillows on our bed.