Last weekend, I imagined myself basking in the sun on a beach in Capri, swimming until the sounds of the shore faded away and the vibrant blues of the sea and sky merged together.
Of course, that wasn’t the reality. Here I am, two months and a year into a pandemic, still grounded since March 2020. As a new mother, I quickly learned how drastically my world shrinks the moment I held my child in my arms.
This dual confinement has its silver linings. Having a baby feels more manageable without the pressure of facing the outside world immediately, and being homebound is easier when I’m focused on caring for my little one. But I still yearn for travel and the adventures beyond my doorstep. My days are filled with masks, nap schedules, handwashing, and preparing for solids. With both a baby and a pandemic, spontaneity has become a rare commodity, and I crave it. I miss the excitement of discovering new places and feeling a little nervous about what’s to come. There are countless days when I just want to hop on a plane and escape anywhere.
While I’m fortunate to be vaccinated, I recognize that I won’t be traveling soon with my unvaccinated child. However, I’ve discovered an alternative that satisfies my wanderlust: reading. That’s how I found myself on a beach in Capri last weekend and wandering through Baku just last night.
Before becoming a mom, I was an avid reader, devouring books weekly. But after my daughter’s arrival, my time and concentration evaporated. During those fleeting moments I had to myself, I often found myself aimlessly moving around the house, struggling to decide on something to do. I attempted to read during those long nursing sessions, but I often ended up gazing at her instead of the page.
In December, I finally managed to get through a book, and then another in January and February. By March, as my baby started sleeping longer at night, I discovered a precious window of time between her bedtime and the moment she woke up when no one needed anything from me. Those moments felt like pure bliss.
So, I read.
There’s something wonderfully escapist about this simple act. If flying to a new destination isn’t an option, immersing myself in fiction can transport me elsewhere. Research suggests that reading novels can enhance empathy over time. While news keeps me informed, fiction takes me on an exhilarating dive into different worlds.
With my newfound reading routine, I find myself elsewhere every few nights, engaging with characters and stories. (I love my partner and daughter, but I can’t deny I’ve spent a lot of time with them lately.) One night, I could be in a quaint town by Lake Michigan, falling in love with a new romance, and the next, I’m navigating the bright lights of a Tokyo convenience store. For a few days, I’m in Paris at 17 again, soaking in the atmosphere of Sri Lanka, feeling the morning humidity on my skin, and waiting for the monsoons. I’ve explored the heat of Samarkand, lounged by a pool in the Hamptons, and savored pepper soup in Lagos.
It’s not just about escaping the physical space; it’s about breaking free from the constant demands of motherhood. Every aspect of my being is consumed with baby care — breastfeeding, helping her stand, soothing her to sleep, and when she’s finally asleep, shopping for her ever-growing wardrobe and researching baby-proofing items. My time is divided into five-minute chunks, and the little luxuries I allow myself feel like hard-won victories. Even as I write this, her cries interrupted my thoughts.
In the midst of this routine, there’s something exhilarating about staying up too late, indulging in a story just for myself. I know I’ll feel the effects of lost sleep in the morning, yet I can’t seem to resist the allure of a good book. It feels slightly rebellious, and in this year when I’ve had to be so responsible, that sensation is liberating. Reading late into the night has become my best guilty pleasure, a small act of defiance amidst a sea of obligations.
I know this phase of life won’t last forever. Vaccines are being distributed, and my daughter is growing every day. There will come a time when I can read without interruptions, not just in the slivers of time between day and night. One day, I’ll board a plane with my daughter and show her the wonders of the world that I adore. I’m eagerly anticipating that moment.
For more ideas on how to escape, check out this post on home insemination and discover additional insights on parenting and reading. Also, if you want to know more about pregnancy, this website is an excellent resource: Women’s Health. And for easy dinner ideas during busy parenting days, visit Intracervical Insemination.
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In summary, while the current circumstances limit physical escapes, the joy of reading offers a much-needed outlet for adventure and exploration. Through literature, I can momentarily step away from the responsibilities of motherhood and immerse myself in new worlds, providing a refreshing break from reality.