Where the Story Ends

Being a parent makes time accelerate. As Luca gets older each day, I conjure up images of him in Jr. High, High School and going off to college. People keep telling me it will go fast so I'm trying to prepare myself. It makes me wonder, when will my story end?

Not that I'm going to have a premature death to end my story, but when will the adventure of my life become obsolete? That moment, around his nineteenth year, when Luca straps on a backpack, kisses his mom on the cheek and boards a plane for India, will my story be important anymore?

I see him on a rundown bus, staring out of a dirty window. And he captures the present. In that moment he feels his soul burst with inspiration and gratitude. And in that present, his present, my story ends. I become mother to a boy who is growing into a man.

I had that moment. I had many moments. Sitting under a palapa in Costa Rica, rain coming down in sheets around me, writing songs with a girl from Indiana. Standing on a bridge staring at a crocodile I paid 1 peso to see, speaking with a Mayan in Italian. Standing in the middle of the Utah desert with Lorenzo, staring into my Super 8 camera at him snapping photos with his old Diana, thinking, "damn, we're pretty cool." In my moments, I didn't reflect on what my parents were doing. To me, their stories ended when I was born. The stories of my dad promoting concerts in his mid-twenties and hanging out with the likes of Miles Davis and the Rolling Stones. That shit just didn't happen after he became a parent.

Yes, I get ahead of myself, Luca is only three months old. But this is the reality of parenthood. At some point we stop searching our souls for the reason we're here. We put that responsibility in the hands of our kids. That moment scares me. But at the same time, I am anxious to feel relieved of the burden of this constant search. I love my life and my family and at some point I want that to be enough for me.

I guess the goal is to somehow mesh our adventures. Hopefully our adventures will be his adventures until that nineteenth year when he kisses me on the cheek...

Adventures in Babyland

No, I've never been a traditionalist. I didn't get a degree in something that would get me a job, I studied film. I've never had your regular 9-5 job and never wanted the whole 2.5 cars and a baby; or whatever that American dream is supposed to be comprised of.

But then I got married and the whole American dream put it's vampire teeth into me. I felt the pressure to buy a house, to get a new car, to secure my career and to have a baby. Society has this crazy power, stronger than anything biological. I fought with Lorenzo about how buying a house was a good investment, I convinced him that I needed a big yard for the garden I was going to plant. Now here I am with a house I bought during the housing bubble that I won't make a dime on, a yard overgrown with weeds, and a failed garden. Who am I and what happened to the spontaneous girl Lorenzo married?

He actually said that the other night when we talked about moving to Rome and I told him I was scared. He reminded me of how before Luca I would have just dropped everything. He also reminded me that most people don't have the opportunity to live in Europe. We have an apartment, a network of friends and family.

My twenty year old self would have a big talking to with this thirty three year old self. At twenty I dreamed of being a writer, sitting in outdoor cafes and riding my bike down a canal. No family cars or big houses with yards showed up in that fantasy. Somehow convenience has taken over adventure. I think my maternal instinct kicked in and has made me feel like I need to be rooted someplace. Plus, it's easier to have a baby in a place you are familiar with. (Funny how as I write this I'm now struggling to find things that make it easier.)

I guess I just know that fantasy and reality are two different things. I know that I will feel lonely and isolated because my Italian isn't great. I know that I won't have a job right away and I'll sometimes feel worthless without some type of goal. I know I won't have the network of friends I've built up in Portland.

But, I will be able to go on weekend adventures in places like Germany and France in the same amount of time it takes to get to California. And I'll enjoy a swim in the Mediterranean instead of looking at the northern Pacific and wondering if I'll get hypothermia if I stick my toe in. Yes, there are many positives. But then there's the talk I'll have to have with my mother who is smitten with her grandson and can hardly stand being a two-hour flight away. I'm not ready for that.

At this point, our fate rests in the hands of the housing market. Will it sell?

Experiments in Parenthood

First you ask yourself if you're ready to be a parent. Then you create a fantasy of this perfect little being smiling at you and calling you, "mommy." A child is born. The fantasy turns into reality. You feel trapped, tired; this perfect little being eats every hour and doesn't smile or call you mommy. Somehow you're still in love. After a couple weeks in the house, your restless self then asks, "What happened to my life? To my dreams and aspirations. Is my whole identity about being a parent?" (And yes after 2 months I can still blame these thoughts on hormones). But do you really want to say no to dinner engagements because he goes to bed at 7pm? Do you want to stay home instead of going on that road trip because its uncomfortable to pump milk at 70 miles an hour? Do you want to co-sleep and never have sex again?"

Lorenzo and I answered no to all of the above. We value our lives. We really believe that if we're happy, Luca will be happy. If we focus on how we were before he arrived, if we keep our marriage fun and healthy, we hope he will reap the benefits and have a good model for relationships. That explains why at two weeks we were in a plane to visit grandma, a week later we were in a car for three days coming home. At one month we were in a cabin on the river with friends and at two months we were driving to Canada.

It's impossible not to judge parents. Some people might think we're irresponsible. I think we're amazing. I read everything about parenting that I can get my hands on. He was never colicky. We figured out his signals early on and we provide what he needs before a breakdown. He sleeps well. At three months he's on a nap schedule and he only wakes up once at night to eat. We didn't force the schedule but we got to know him and he naturally fell into it. I breastfeed exclusively but I also pump bottles so that I can go out with friends, continue my dance class and take Italian lessons. He does go to bed at 7pm each night, but that might be in our friend's bed when we're over for dinner or in his bassinet if we're outside somewhere. He's a happy kid and we're happy parents.

But we've come across a new life dilemma. We're selling our house. Not because we have to but because as new parents we're not comfortable pushing a stroller down dirt roads with no sidewalks. Where people run, not for their health, but to get away from something. So what's next? We are not traditional people who work corporate jobs and live in the suburbs. We try to work jobs that give us lots of flexibility and independence and vacation time to travel. Without being tied down to a house we have opened up the possibility for a big move that we feel will reinvigorate and inspire us. And it scares me.