A small bite of the Big Apple

So… I am 32,000 feet in the air, without a child. This, people, is exciting stuff. I am on my way to New York to see my best friend for a strictly child-free weekend. The Visa Waiver application asked if I intended to “engage in immoral activities”. Well, yes, of course I do.

 The last (and only other) time I have been away without her was for a similar long New York weekend in the autumn of last year, and you will be pleased to hear that I managed to fit approximately 18 months’ worth of standard 22-year-old behaviour into just over 72 hours. In the last few weeks particularly I have felt my patience with children in general, and more specifically my child, dwindling very close to zero, so I am hardly able to articulate quite how much I am looking forward to my break. Ruby, by the way, has fully recovered from last week’s drama, and will be staying with my parents for the four nights that I will away (five if you count the overnight flight back – thank you Ma and Pa!) If I’m honest, even sitting for eight hours in economy class on an airline I have never heard of before, watching a movie I’ve never heard of with Japanese subtitles, feels like the height of luxury when it doesn’t involve being used as a climbing frame.

 It is strange though, to be without my small, sticky-faced appendage. I had a bit of a cry when I said goodbye to her, and apparently my emotional threshold has been affected by this, as I had another mini-cry listening to the morning news in the car on the way to the airport (pathetic, I know, but the world can at times be a very depressing place to hear about that early in the morning). Irritatingly, last night was one of only four (yes, count them, four) times she has slept through the night in her own bed, and I actually had to go in and wake her up this morning, but what it meant was that I got to have a rare glimpse of her sleeping, in the way only children can sleep, with a little frown like it is a really serious business, and to get that perfect, early-morning, baby-breathed cuddle when she woke up. It probably would have been easier to leave her if she’d been vile, but it only served to show me how much I would miss her.

 Ironically, I have ended up sitting next to the only two small children on the plane, which in theory is something I thought I would resent, seeing how I am being a grown up this weekend, but in reality it’s quite nice. For one thing, as soon as they approach that particular pitch of whine which all parents dread, I can stick my headphones in and completely ignore them. I appreciate that those without children might not fully understand how sublime it is to be able to do this, but there are many of you who know exactly what I’m talking about.

 I remember my last trip away vividly, and I can’t wait to land. I am beyond excited about seeing my friend, who I miss every day. I am thrilled at the prospect of being able to make decisions at the last minute, pop out without notice, stay out late without having to tot up the small fortune I will pay the sitter who earns more per hour than I do, without having to weigh up whether I am having enough fun to justify the suffering when I get woken up at the crack of dawn. Partly I am simply excited because Manhattan is exciting, whether it’s a break from your real life or part of your real life.

 The thing is though that, as much as I want to get away, I know how thrilled the distance will make me to see my baby when I get home. This trip is like oxygen for me. For a few days I get to do the things I want to do so that I can go back and actually enjoy, rather than resent, the things I need to do, and, yes, I do know exactly how lucky that makes me.