When my oldest child was barely two I had to take a two-week business trip to London and New York. There was no question about my going on that trip but for weeks I tried to devise a way to take my child with me.
Business trips and small children do not mix. No one I discussed it with thought it would be a positive outcome for him to endure a 24-hour flight, jet-lag both ways and then still not see me for most of the day and evening while cooped up in an unfamiliar hotel room.
My husband works evenings so our son went to stay with my parents for the two weeks with his dad visiting him every couple of days. It wasn’t ideal but we decided it was the scenario that would provide the most stability for him in my absence. My retired father had taken care of him three days a week from the age of six months, so he was with a familiar caregiver.
I phoned my parents’ home at the same time every evening, regardless of city, to check on my son. Mum would answer the phone and in the background I could hear my baby making loud noises. It always sounded as though he was crying. Every day. My mother would say, quite convincingly, “he’s laughing, not crying”. I was never fully convinced that was true but I wanted to believe her for my sanity. “Don’t worry about him, he loves it here with us. Just have fun,” my mother would say at the end of every phone call.
Still, I was wracked with guilt and must have bought up half of FAO Schwarz in New York. I spent more money on toys during that trip than I ever had previously on shoes (which is saying something). It was the longest two weeks of my life, even though it was highly productive from a business perspective.
When I finally arrived home my tiny son looked at me with disbelief. He held my face in his hands and kept staring at it. The gesture broke my heart. It was then that mum revealed the truth about those two weeks. He had not only cried constantly but had paced the floor each day near the landing at the top of the stairs where he expected me to appear.
As well as the sadness for my son, it must have been sheer hell for my parents. But rather than make me feel bad about leaving him in their care, my mother generously chose to lie to me about his state of happiness. There is no way that I could have survived the mental anguish of that trip if it hadn’t been for my parents and their selflessness.
Have you had a similar challenge when heading off on a business trip? How did you arrange care for your child?