Blog 1 MOTHERHOOD: A NEW ADVENTURE
My son’s first flights happened before he ever took his first breath. What was meant to be a simple two-week trip back to the States to see my mom and indulge a few cravings I couldn’t fulfill on the island paradise I’d relocated to during the pandemic became so much more.
Belize had been my refuge, a place where turquoise waters shimmered like glass and the laid-back pace soothed my restless spirit. In my impulsive travel fashion, I’d found not only a new home but a person who made it feel complete. Or so I thought. We fell in love fast, married even faster, and soon I was carrying our son, a tender joy made even more precious after losing a child just months earlier.
The journey began on a small prop plane, lifting off from Caye Caulker toward Belize’s Philip Goldson International Airport. Below, the barrier reef glowed. Prior to landing, the jungle spread out in a vast green quilt stitched with a brown river. The air felt clean, wet, and sweet. Transferring from the puddle hopper to the deep hum of an Alaska Airlines jet, I settled in, my heart set on family and on the ridiculous, specific joy of finally devouring a cheesy bean and rice burrito from Taco Bell, dripping in Mild and Diablo hot sauce.
Caye Caulker BZ
Hours later, the green world dissolved. As the plane dipped toward Los Angeles, the window framed a harsh new palette: dusty browns, concrete grays, and the faint orange haze of smog. The “concrete jungle” sprawled endlessly, its edges blurred by pollution. Clusters of skyscrapers rose like stone and glass corals, while freeways knotted below in a web of organized chaos like the fish on the reef. The air looked thicker here, heavier, as though breathing itself would be work. The contrast to Belize’s quiet, unspoiled beauty pressed against my chest.
In hindsight, I was naïve. Six days into my two week visit, at seventeen weeks pregnant, I found myself in a hospital bed with a bleed. Fear gripped me like nothing I’d ever known. After losing one child, the thought of losing another so soon was almost unbearable. For the first time, I realized I was no longer traveling solo. Every decision, every mile, every risk now carried the weight of another life. My impulsive adventures had been replaced with something slower, more deliberate. Motherhood.
Two months later, after the love and care of my mom and grandma nursed me through bed rest, my doctors cleared me to fly again. My tiny “stowaway” and I returned to Belize, but this homecoming felt different. My marriage was fractured, my body wracked with relentless morning sickness, and the island no longer embraced me with the same warmth.
Still, my little travel partner was already developing a personality, and a surprisingly refined palate. Between waves of nausea, I gave in to his budding tastes: crisp organic salads and greasy Chinese take-out fries. He may not have known it yet, but he was already a traveler. Crossing borders, tasting the world, and learning, even before birth, that every journey carries both beauty and challenge, and rarely unfolds the way we imagine.
