The guilty secret of a travelling mum

A long time ago, I used to be a trip-planning, hotel website-surfing, airport-hopping, city-touring traveller. That changed with the arrival of a baby a year ago; I found myself lacking even the energy to turn on the computer after work, much less monitor air ticket prices. Travel, the way I knew it — frequent, foot-loose and diaper-bag free — is over.

I was prepared for it. After all, I gave up on a couple of work trips during the pregnancy. Plus, I was forced to sit out on my annual holiday with my best friends and my phone buzzed constantly from photos these so-called BFFs were WhatsApping over. A super close pal had also taken off on an Eat Pray Love-esque solo trip to Italy and dished out delicious tales of discovery while I sat reading them at 3am in the dark, attached to lactation devices.

Trust me, Instagram did not help my life one bit during this time.

It was a relief to be back at work last November to have some semblance of my former life back. When my boss sweetly asked if I would like a short two-night work trip two months later, I might have replied “Yes!” a little too quickly.

Yes, too, was the guilt of abandoning a six-month-old infant — further troubling my already super trooper parents-in-law caring for my daughter in the day. I comforted myself with the notion that all babies are usually adaptable to changes and absences, gleaned from a mixture of blind optimism, fellow mothers’ advice and Internet wisdom. Besides, the guilt was short-lived. The moment I breathed Changi Airport’s sanitised air, the old, familiar thrill of travel returned. Baby, what baby?

At the risk of sounding like a heartless mother, I enjoy work trips. Each trip is a little time off to indulge in habits from a lifetime ago: Late dinners and long conversations with new friends and taking forever to choose the #ootd (that’s “outfit of the day” for those unfamiliar with hashtag lingo). Without a baby to attend to, I could obsess over my pores in the morning and read a magazine from cover to cover at night.

It makes me grateful for things I used to complain about, such as being unable to sleep on the plane. Even flying coach is a real luxury these days because that’s the time to catch up on the movies (my last movie in a cinema was on the day before I gave birth). You couldn’t tear me away from the entertainment system even on a red-eye flight. Radioactive-looking plane food? Bring it on. It’s one leisurely meal without having it turn cold or trying to amuse the baby while slurping up noodles.

Work trips break the day-to-day toil where you’re a slave to two bosses, rushing from one thing to another at the office and at home. Timelines in your child’s life feel kind of similar to deadlines: You mean it’s time to change the milk formula and buy new onesies? Again?

Those things get suspended momentarily when your biggest headache is deciding between having beef or fish.

Before you nominate me for Worst Mother Ever, I Facetime my daughter every chance I can; I swear my heart’s stabbed by a million little needles when she appears to be desperately touching the iPhone and calls out “mama” or perfects the flying kiss. But the recovery is swift — there are things to do and places to see. I’m ashamed to say I never felt morose or had trouble sleeping because I missed her.

Is that a bad thing? I didn’t think so — my husband and family have been very supportive. That is until a friend whom I’ve always considered to be a great dad told me he has never left his daughter for a night except for reservist. “Why would you want to leave your child?” he asked.

Gulp.

I had a hard time answering the question. Instead of feeling guilty about being away from the baby, I felt guilty that I wasn’t guilty of that. Many parents have no choice but to travel for work. Think of all the migrant workers who are away from their children for months or years on end. But what about parents who could actually say, “Maybe not this time.” Or when another colleague could go instead?

“Do what you need to be a good parent,” a mummy friend I nicknamed Yoda espoused. As usual, Yoda was right — the definitions of “need” and “good parent” depend on who’s defining them. There really isn’t a right answer to, “Why do you want to leave your child?”

I choose to go on work trips because not only are they one reason I love my job, they add to both my professional and life experience. I come back to the baby, enriched and happier with myself; happier to be with her. I do turn down work trips more than I go for them; I don’t extend the trips to sightsee or hang out with new friends, which can be somewhat suspicious — like being questioned by immigration officers why I would be in Manila for less than 24 hours — and a total bummer.

I travel because it helps tell me who I am fundamentally — before I became a mum — and what I want to be. This hit me acutely when I saw, on my most recent work trip, that the inflight entertainment had the Veronica Mars movie. In my 20s, I was completely hooked on the TV series, which starred Kristen Bell as a teenage private eye. Watching the movie and seeing the character grow into adulthood the same way I did felt extremely gratifying. It was as if she showed up saying, “Hey old friend, you’re doing okay so far.”

And that’s one of the best things a mum can hear.