Like most mothers, I want my daughter to see the world. I’ve always dreamed she would spread her wings, experience different cultures and environments, and develop a sense of herself in the biggest possible way. But in those dreams, I’m the one who has the privilege of showing her, at least while she’s still a child. Next month, T. will travel to Israel with her dad’s new in-laws for a family tour.
When T.’s dad and new stepmother brought up the trip and asked my permission to take T. with them, I immediately said, “Absolutely. What an incredible opportunity for her.”
And it is, I know it is.
As thrilled as I am that she has this opportunity, I can’t help envisioning myself as a stowaway in her carry-on bag, wedged between her beloved stuffed dog and her Game Boy, trailing behind her family with a bag over my head so no one will realize I’m there.
T. turned eight just a few weeks ago. How can I let her travel to the other side of the world without me? It’s too far away. I’m having the kind of separation anxieties that haven’t plagued me since she started pre-school. I’m not a helicopter parent—I work full time and I am just not put together in such a way that I find it satisfying for either myself or my daughter to spend endless stretches of time in each other’s company. But the idea that I couldn’t reach her without an entire day’s air travel has sent me back to memories of the first time she took a bottle. She was six weeks old; I expressed milk and gave the baby and the bottle to my mother. T. drank with gusto, my mother beamed with pride, and I burst into sobs.
“I’m so happy that I’ll have some freedom,” I remember weeping, “but I’m so unhappy that I’ll have some freedom!”
That paradox of new motherhood feels fresh all over again.
I had a mini-preview of the Israel trip over Presidents’ Day holiday, when T.’s dad and stepmother took her to Florida to visit her stepmother’s parents. At first I didn’t think anything much of the trip—just another weekend she’d be with her dad instead of me, tack on a couple of days at the end. I was used to this. But on her second day away, she called on the phone to announce:
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