Thank God for Orange Milano cookies. I eat them with complete disregard for the calories and they calm me. They also make me forget for a nanosecond how much I miss Alex. Then the sense of corporal feeling of something missing returns. Is there a single word for that in another language? It’s like saudade in Portuguese, but not in the nostalgic sense. It’s a physical missing that cloaks my being.
I’m sitting in the airport in Washington DC, minutes away from embarking on my South African journey. I’m struck by how different everything is when you’re traveling without a baby or toddler. Alex and I have traveled alone together numerous times—to the U.S. from Brazil, from Portugal to the U.S., from Spain to Portugal, to St. Louis, Colorado and Kansas City. I shamefully recall those trips and all the times I glumly glanced at other travelers and envied their relaxed posture, their books, airport snacks, iPods and laptops. They didn’t have to search for elevators for the stroller or struggle to pass security with a wiggling child in their arms. They could sit and watch Fox News on the monitors, board the plane without the kiddy safari gear, and put on their headphones and drift off to sleep. Now that is me. But something is missing.
The pre-boarding is beginning. I can’t pre-board anymore. I’m on a work trip now. My clothes are clean and the only snacks in my bag are mine. I miss my baby.
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