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I envisioned spending last weekend in a sun-drenched paradise, perhaps Capri, with the warmth on my face while I swam until the distant chatter faded away and the vibrant blues of the sea melded with the horizon.
But that was just a daydream. With the pandemic stretching over a year and a half, and being a new mom, my world has shrunk significantly since my child was placed in my arms.
This period of confinement has its benefits. Caring for a newborn feels more manageable without the pressure of engaging with the outside world, and being at home is slightly easier when you have an adorable baby to occupy your time.
Yet, I can’t shake the longing for travel and the adventures that come with it. My daily life now revolves around masks, nap routines, constant handwashing, and introducing solids to my little one. With both a baby and a pandemic to navigate, spontaneity has become a rarity, and I crave that thrill of discovering new places. There are many days when I just want to hop on a plane and go anywhere.
Although I’m fortunate to be vaccinated, my unprotected child keeps me grounded for now. However, I’ve found a different way to escape: reading. Thanks to this new passion, 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 a book a week or even more. But after my daughter’s arrival, time and focus became elusive. Whenever I found a moment to myself, I’d wander aimlessly around our home, unsure of what to do. I attempted to read during those long nursing sessions, but I often found myself captivated by her instead of the pages.
In December, I finally managed to finish a book. By January and February, I read another. As my daughter began to sleep longer at night by March, I discovered a precious window of time after bedtime when no one needed anything from me. That time was a gift, and I savored it.
Reading offers a delicious escape from reality. When travel feels impossible, fiction can whisk you away to far-off lands. Studies have even shown that reading novels can enhance empathy over time. While the news is informative, it maintains a distance; fiction plunges you into new experiences.
With my evolving reading routine, I find myself transported to different worlds every few nights. (I love my partner and daughter, but I can’t deny I’ve spent a lot of time with them lately.) One evening, I’m in a quaint town by Lake Michigan, immersed in a romance. Another night, I’m surrounded by the neon lights of a Tokyo convenience store. I’ve roamed through Paris at seventeen, strolled in Sri Lanka, endured the heat of Samarkand, relaxed by a pool in the Hamptons, and savored pepper soup in Lagos.
It’s not just about escaping for a few hours. Much of my physical and mental energy goes into caring for my baby—nursing, encouraging her to stand, soothing her to sleep, and shopping for her ever-growing wardrobe. My time is divided into five-minute chunks, with tiny indulgences being carefully negotiated. Even writing this paragraph was interrupted by her cries.
In this routine, there’s something wonderfully liberating about staying up late to do something just for myself. I know I’ll feel the effects of lost sleep in the morning, but I can’t seem to pull myself away from the pages. It feels slightly irresponsible, and in a year when I can’t afford to be reckless, that feels exhilarating. Reading late into the night has become my best bad habit—a small act of rebellion amidst a sea of responsibility.
I know this phase won’t last forever. Vaccines are being distributed, and my daughter is growing every day. Eventually, I will have more time to read, not just in the cracks between days. Someday, I’ll board a plane with my daughter and introduce her to the world I love so much. I can’t wait.
For further reading, check out this post on Home Insemination Kit for more insights.