Why I Hate Mum Work Travel

I wrote a while back about my love-hate relationship with work travel as a mum. Only now I’ve decided I actually just hate mum work travel.

Last night I returned so exhausted every bone in my body ached and I had that fuzzy, not quite there feeling – like my brain was looking through some translucent window as I experienced the world. Three nights of working till after midnight tends to have that effect, especially as I started the trip shattered from toddler-induced sleep deprivation. And let’s just say the sleeping conditions on the trip weren’t great either.

When I got home my mum was putting the little one to bed. I went in to his room and he sat up in a shot. His brown eyes staring at me in wonder and amazement, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck. Quickly he dragged his pillow and blanket out to come join me in my room to sleep, as is tradition. He snuggled up next to me in the bed, his head on my pillow and smothered me in kisses. It was exactly what I needed – unconditional love. I was so happy to be back.

But one hour later and we were still lying there wide awake. By now my son was starting to jump around. I felt for him. I’m pretty sure it’s confusing having your mum disappear for a few days and then return like nothing has happened. I’m almost certain there is a feeling deep inside him of concern – will mummy be disappearing again soon? Will she never return apart from for the odd short visit like daddy? He must have asked me at least 29 times ‘where did mummy go’ although he knew the answer inside-out.

Eventually it got to the ridiculous point. I asked him if he wanted to sleep in his own bed. I asked him because, normally, when he is refusing to lie down in bed I ask that and it helps him settle down. His usual response is a quick, ‘mummy’s bed’, and then he jumps back in because he knows if he doesn’t settle soon I’ll be putting him in his own bed. Only this time he didn’t say that. This time he told me he wanted to sleep in his bed and he picked up his things and dragged them out.

As he climbed out of bed my heart was screaming, ‘don’t go’. I could feel the panic rising up inside me. As I glanced in the mirror on my wardrobe, I caught a final glimpse of him dragging his teddies out through the door. I kept silent though, I don’t want him to sleep in my bed because I want him to. I want him to sleep wherever he feels safest and happiest and only he can decide that. So whilst my heart was ripping in two, my mouth was saying, ‘OK dear’.

The next hour or so were spent with my son going back and forth between my room and his room, uncertain where he wanted to sleep. Three nights without mummy meant he wasn’t so sure he wanted or needed her after all. But then sleeping alone in his cot wasn’t so appealing either. It felt like I needed to regain my place in his life. Not in his heart, the look and the kisses he gave me showed there was no doubt of that, but every time I go away, when I come back I need to establish my place as the alpha female of the home. When I’m gone he learns to survive without me and when I’m back he realises he didn’t need me for that bit after all.

I’m not saying he doesn’t need me. He’s two and a half, of course he does. But my absence pushes him to let go just a little earlier and a little sharper than he would otherwise. On a previous work trip (the first I did since his birth), he had one very short breastfeed on my return and then he never latched on again properly. Every time he tried, he just kept saying ‘where mummy milk gone?’ To this day he asks for mummy milk and then says ‘mummy went far away and mummy milk went’, it’s pretty heart-breaking to hear. To know that if I hadn’t gone away he would have continued. It feels like I pushed him to stop before he was ready. And when he stopped breastfeeding it ushered in a good few months of hell on earth at bedtime. The sudden stopping of his one-hour pre-bedtime feeds was a big part of that problem; those feeds gave him the time, space and love he needed before sleep. Without that he was at a loss as to how to switch off and it took him a very long time to get the hang of it.

I know objectively these are all milestones that he would reach anyway regardless of me travelling. But now I’ve done a few trips away I can see that they fast forward the process. They make him a little more independent from me a little quicker. And whilst he has spent the days getting used to that space, I haven’t. When I return it’s a shock to get used to it – this child who doesn’t want to breastfeed, my baby who doesn’t want to sleep with me. It’s not that a big part of me didn’t want the breastfeeding to end – it was exhausting – and it isn’t like I don’t realise I’d probably be much better rested if my son slept in his own room – it’s just that it makes these changes all that much more stark. And it reminds me that I only have my son on loan; one-day he won’t be there at all. The physical distance between us will only grow and grow each day.

Eventually, at approximately 12:09 am, he fell asleep as I cradled him in my arms, sitting on the floor of his room, gently rocking him and singing lullabies. And then I knew that what he was really looking for was the reassurance that mummy was still there for him even if she did disappear sometimes, and I carried him back into my bed so he knew he could count on me for that little bit longer.

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