On Adventurous Motherhood

It may sound silly, but one of my biggest fears about having a child was the way in  which it would affect my “funness”, namely, my adventurous spirit. At a high school graduation ceremony, my parents had to choose three words to describe me, and two of them were “curious” and “adventurous”. The way in which I live my life seeking to maximize new experiences and adventure is foundational to the way I define myself. When I ask myself, “Who am I?” these elements are top of mind.

Having a baby, I knew, would change me, in ways I might and might not imagine. There were the things I could predict: pregnancy impacting my physical capabilities, postpartum recovery period, and the like. And there were the ways that I was less sure of precisely how having a baby would impact my life, just that I knew it certainly would.

I remember the first two weeks after giving birth as an emotional blur punctuated with moments of intense feelings: of awe at the tiniest human being I was responsible for, of serene “rightness” during quiet moments of contact napping, and closeness with my husband watching him interact with our son. Then there were the moments of terror, exhaustion, and tears. I remember one moment, absolutely panicked, wondering how I would manage to care for my son when my mom left and my husband went back to work. That’s when my sister, not unkindly, noted, there’s no way out but through.

And go through it I did. I went from having to keep peanut butter and bread in my room at night (they don’t tell you you may be absolutely starving in early breastfeeding days) because I couldn’t manage the walk upstairs to the kitchen, to attempting a circle around my court, to slow stroller walks, and finally my first ever solo walk with my son in a baby wrap. It felt so small, and yet so momentous. It was taking the first step towards gaining back not just my physical independence and strength, but also my adventurous spirit. 

It was a lot longer than a few weeks before we really got into outdoor adventures again. Sure, we did a hike around the 6 week mark, but then it got cold and wintry, and we spent the final 5 weeks of my maternity leave in Ecuador to spend time with my husband’s family. We even snuck in a week-long trip to the Galapagos with my mother in law that went surprisingly amazing (note: traveling with a non-mobile infant may be far easier than traveling with a rambunctious toddler. As a first time mom, you may not realize this and wish you had taken advantage of the earlier months). 

After our trip to the Galapagos, I felt on top of the world. Nico was sleeping through the night in Ecuador way more than he had back home. We were able to do some really cool activities in the Galapagos like snorkeling and boat trips that made me feel like a badass adventure mom (“Can you believe we did that with a baby?!”). We got excellent weather and one night as I nursed my son on a tropical beach while watching the sunset, I was brimming with hope and possibility.

Here’s the thing. You can do more than you thought was possible while adventuring with kids, but that doesn’t always mean you should. What you will come to learn after having children is that what you can do with kids and what is enjoyable to do with kids may be different. And each stage of infancy and toddlerhood comes with changes that make defining fun adventures with kids a moving target.

In the early days of motherhood, the biggest challenge was exhaustion. As a self-proclaimed big sleeper, I always worried I would struggle with night interruptions for nursing. And this proved to be true: I struggled a lot under the pressure of near-constant sleep deprivation. 

What they don’t tell you is that if you are breastfeeding, you may not be able to just pump in the day time and let your partner bottle feed the baby for night wakings, because then your supply may drop. Or your baby won’t take a bottle. This means that I had about 9 months of highly interrupted sleep with almost no breaks. I still haven’t spent a single night out of earshot of my son and he’s nearly 2. 

The psychological and physical toll of sleep deprivation is impossible to understate. I remember crying to myself one morning after a particularly rough night of countless wakings and just begging my son to fall asleep on my chest. Or other nights when I suffered through bedsharing because it was the only way we could get him to sleep, even though my own sleep was fitful because I was terrified of something happening to him on the floor mattress next to me. When you are more tired than you ever knew was possible, you may find that all you have the strength for is making dinner and surviving one more night.

I was also sicker in my first year postpartum than I’ve ever been before or have been since. Every month I caught something. If it wasn’t a cold, it was a bladder infection. If it wasn’t a sinus infection, it was a respiratory illness. My body felt like it surrendered to any illness I encountered and there was nothing I could do about it.

Suffice to say that our outdoor adventures were a bit less regular than I would have hoped during the first 8-9 months of our son’s life. I was physically not capable of the level of activity and adventure I could maintain before kids.

But then things did get better. By the time Nico’s first summer rolled around, I was physically much stronger. Nights were a bit easier, breastfeeding lessened as he started to eat solid foods, and my overall confidence in mothering was much higher. We’d done some smaller, close to home excursions in the winter and spring, and had a full calendar of summer camping trips.

And camp, we did. Some trips we had more success than others. We learned to pack our car with the backseat open so someone could sit next to our son when he inevitably started to fuss at some point on the drive. We learned to accept that he’d be waking in the night and at some point end up in our sleeping bags alongside us instead of in his portable crib. We learned that corn on the cob is great for a teething baby and will give us 5 minutes of peace at the camp table. 

We learned that there is no “relaxing” while camping with a baby. Someone is always on duty. The one time I got to enjoy a book on a camping trip was when Nico napped with Gonza in the tent while I splayed out in the hammock. 

In fact, there isn’t ever much relaxing while living with a baby or a toddler at all. Sometimes it isn’t the logistics of bringing your baby with you that is the biggest hurdle to planning an adventure, but the simple fact that you never get a break and therefore may not have the energy to go out in the first place.

I was always someone who wanted my life to not completely revolve around my children once I had them. Not in the sense that my son isn’t the most important person in my world (he is) or that I don’t want to be very present and engaged (I do) but more in the sense of being “nap trapped”, or giving up all the things I love. I loathed the idea of being forced into a rigid schedule where you don’t leave the house during nap times and swore that wouldn’t be me. I wanted to fit my baby into my life, not the other way around.

You may find that your child naps on the go and is supremely flexible in all ways. Or you may find that sure, you can refuse to be nap trapped, but also know that you may be paying for it later with a grumpy baby who didn’t sleep quite as much as he should have and a crappy night of sleep afterwards because, as they say, “sleep begets sleep”. 

If you prioritize the baby’s “best interests” always, you will be miserable. If you always prioritize yours, you will also be miserable. It is a constant balancing act of determining how to keep everyone at least moderately happy. Compromises will be made. Sometimes in the form of listening to the Sesame Street soundtrack on repeat for a 2-hour drive.

As an adventure parent, you will have moments of unadulterated awe and joy. Our first day of camping at North Cascades was like that. We woke up in the forest in a beautiful campground, baby bundled up in a fleece bunting while we cooked a delicious breakfast of avocado toast with fruit, and then made our way to the Blue Lake trail. The sun was shining, the mountains were out, and the lake at the end of the relatively easy 2 mile trail was a stunning shade of water some might call gatorade blue. I laid out our picnic blanket on the shores of the beach, happily sharing snacks and cuddling with our son, and once again thought “I have arrived”. No bumps along the way, just a sweet content baby packed in the backpack, napping appropriately and enjoying the sunshine just like we did.

You’ll also have moments wondering why you decided to do whatever it is you’re doing. This will probably happen when you’re on hour 15 of a 21 hour travel day with a “lap infant” 15 month old who wants nothing more than to explore and move and there’s nothing you can do about it. Or when you’re halfway through a 3 hour drive and he’s inconsolable, no food nor attention will fix it, and your husband about loses his mind and nearly swears off traveling while your kid is little (and how long is that, even?)

As our son grows, the challenges shift, and so do the joys. Case in point: we recently discovered that our son absolutely adores the beach. Freezing water does not phase him, he wants to be in it, even as he says “Cooooold” he giggles and runs back in. Experiencing his joy alongside him while exploring the outdoors is sacred.

Then there’s the favorite phrase “all done” when he indicates he’s over whatever we’re doing. And as a toddler, he loses interest fast. Once, while hiking a 4 mile trail, we were maybe 1 mile in before he started chanting “all done”. Suffice to say I hoofed it to minimize the likelihood of a trailside breakdown. On that note: don’t let your toddler out of the hiking backpack until it’s absolutely necessary, or you’re at least halfway done. You may get screaming when the time comes to strap them back in. 

As Nico grows, so has my confidence in mothering. I started hiking with people other than my husband when Nico was 8 months old, and I took my first solo mom/baby hike when he was just shy of one year old. The euphoria I felt while hiking at Mt. Rainier on a perfect September day, with a happy baby on my back, was one I will never forget. The feeling of sunshine, the endless train of compliments from passing hikers (“I want to be you in 10 years!”, “You’re so strong!”, “Amazing to get him out in nature starting so young!”), the moments of cuddling and feeding my baby surrounded by incredible mountain views were indescribable. The pride at realizing that I was strong, I was brave, and I was limitless. Or remembering that those things were still deep inside me, even if they’d been hibernating for a while.

You will never be the most adventurous mom, or the least adventurous. It can be inspiring to watch other moms do things like mountain biking in the desert or backpacking in the high sierras. It’s perfectly fine for some of those activities to not be for you. Don’t feel like you aren’t adventurous enough for not wanting to do a four-day backpacking trip into the wilderness with a diapered toddler. Type two fun will not earn you a prize. Only you will define what adventures feel good for your family, and which are not the right fit. It’s a good thing to identify boundaries and know what works for you.

You’ll find yourself simultaneously wanting time to move in slow motion and wishing away the struggles of whatever stage of the early parenting trenches you’re in. 

I remember in the earliest days I would start crying over how quickly Nico was outgrowing his newborn and 0-3 month clothing as he doubled in weight in the first two weeks of his life. I remember holding him for contact naps, absolutely cherishing the time we had together and wanting to continue doing it for as long as possible, thinking nothing is more important than this. 

Then, I’d be feeling dreadful at yet another 3 am night waking and wish for the night that I got to sleep uninterrupted. Or he’ll have a particularly rough tantrum in the car and I imagine what it will be like when he’s old enough to read to himself or talk with us on road trips. Or we’ll be sitting at a beach while I tell him “no, we don’t eat rocks” for the 54th time, and I’ll find myself daydreaming about the experiences we’ll have together “when things are easier”. Rock climbing when he’s 5, white water rafting in the Amazon when he’s 7, perhaps mountain biking when he’s 8? The possibilities are endless! 

And then I’m right back with my little one who gives the sweetest kisses when I say “beso para mama”, who runs to me and calls out when I pick him up after a day of work, who laughs when we chase and tackle him on the floor bed, who grabs my hand to bring me with him, who shortens words in the most adorable ways, and all I can think of is I can’t wish away a single moment of this.

Yearning, I’ve found, and bittersweet emotions, are essentials in the package of parenthood. Complex emotions are our shared language. 

You may find yourself aching for the days of adventure Before. Before hiking carriers, before toddler snack strategizing, before planning around naps, before you knew the dread of air travel with a tiny human. 

And let me say: that is okay. That is normal. Don’t listen to the “super” adventure moms on social media who only ever say “Adventures are just better now than before!” These types of people make me want to pull my hair out and ask, “Did you even DO these things before you had a toddler?!”

You can acknowledge there are particular joys to be had from sharing adventures with a child. And at the same time, grieve the loss of the experiences you had before that you probably won’t have again, or at least not for a long time. I for one miss peaceful dinners out with my husband while traveling, being able to hike without worrying about snacks or gear for or mood of a child, outdoor experiences like rafting, actually relaxing at places like tropical beaches or simply your forested campsite, and the ability to easily take longer car rides. 

Time is a complete warp post-baby. You’ll find yourself counting up from the day your child was born, “I can’t believe he’s 21 months old already!” in one moment and saying “I can’t believe it’s only been 21 months since we’ve had him!” in another. You’ll realize that you never noticed how much can change in a single year, because you’ve never seen the scale of incredible, mind-boggling growth and change of an infant from newborn to one year old. You’ll start to think about how different your child is even from winter to spring, like how he barely had a handful of words then and can repeat nearly anything now, identifying puerta and zapatos and outside with ease. You’ll wonder how different your lives will look each new season, adventuring and otherwise, as a result. 

Sometimes I find myself in the deepest of the trenches, wondering if it’s even worth it to get out of the house. The nights before trips or hikes when I just can’t drag myself out to pack the car, even though I know it will make my life easier. The days when I wonder if I’m pushing us too much, if we should just stay home, because the overwhelm of collecting all the things, keeping baby safe and happy, and trying to enjoy the experience, of potentially pushing a husband who isn’t as adventure-focused to the breaking point, all feels like too much. 

And then I remember Nico’s unbridled joy at playing in the stream. Or the way he ran around with me laughing at the top of a hike on a warm spring day. Or how we walked around the cabin touching plants and exploring together, naming things: Árbol. Hoja. Flor. Or how he crawled around the beach and reveled in letting the sand and rocks run through his fingers. And I’ll remember to take a deep breath and look at the big picture: that we are in this for the long haul. That I’m planting seeds of adventure and joy in nature for my son, that we are creating memories together that will shine apart from the blur of the day to day in the best of ways. That I get to continue to be me, doing things that I love, not being solely defined by the title of mother. 

And when I think of those things, I feel the glimmers of who I was Before. And if I could, I’d reach out a hand and reassure her: you’ll re-find your adventurous ways. Follow both your body and feelings. You don’t even need a map.