Adventure: defined by a mom

I would have considered myself adventurous… you know, in my previous life. I enjoyed new things–anything exciting, thrilling, maybe dangerous. I’ve camped on the ground, under the stars, with the dingoes in the Australian outback. I’ve swam with stingrays and sharks and wild dolphins. I’ve zip-lined through the rainforest. I’ve fed wild monkeys. I went crawling through underground caves. I survived Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I’ve been white-water rafting and skydiving. I’ve stood at the back end of a horse and helped birth a foal.

Okay, some more adventurous than others, but all pretty exciting. I’d LOVE to go skydiving again. I remember being so jealous of the professionals (yea, that guy strapped to my back) because they got to jump out of planes every day of their lives.


I’m a mom.

Jump out of a plane?! Yea, I’d still love to, but… there’s Ryan. I guess you could say I care more about my life now?! I mean, what IF something happened to me–then what would happen to poor Ryan? There’s no way I could do something that crazy anymore. (At least, not until Ryan is old enough to do it with me 😉

So what’s adventurous to me now? FLYING. And I don’t mean flying through the air from 15,000 feet up with a parachute. I mean flying on a plane. To BlogHer. I am flying without my baby. What if something happens?!

I LOVE flying. I’ve never been the least bit scared. But it’s like the first thing on my mind right now. That and the adventure of leaving my baby boy for 4 days. That’s 3 nights. He’s never been away from me for 1 night. I know he’ll survive, but I don’t want him to just survive. I want him to be ok. To be great! And I worry about him being great when his mama is away.

THAT is my new “adventure.”

4 comments to Adventure: defined by a mom

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