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Last weekend, I imagined myself lounging on a sun-kissed beach in Capri. The warm sun on my skin, I envisioned swimming in the azure sea until the distant chatter of the shore faded away and the sky blended seamlessly with the water.
Of course, that fantasy is far from reality. With two months and a year into a pandemic, my travels have been put on hold since March 2020. As a first-time mom, I’ve experienced a significant contraction of my world; the moment I held my baby, everything shifted dramatically.
This dual confinement has had its silver linings. Caring for a newborn feels a bit easier when there’s no external pressure to engage with the world immediately, and being homebound is more manageable when a tiny human occupies my every moment. Yet, despite these comforts, I deeply miss traveling and the wider world. My daily life is consumed by masks, nap schedules, and frequent handwashing, as well as preparing to introduce solids. With a baby and a pandemic, spontaneity is scarce, and I find myself yearning for the excitement of new experiences. I dream of taking a flight to anywhere.
Fortunately, I’ve received my vaccine, but with my little one still unprotected, I know that air travel isn’t in my near future. However, I’ve stumbled upon an alternative that satisfies my wanderlust: reading. This is how I found myself on the beaches of Capri last weekend and in Baku just last night.
Before motherhood, I was an avid reader, devouring at least a book a week. However, after my daughter’s arrival, both time and concentration slipped away. During those fleeting moments of solitude, I often wandered my home, unsure of what to do. There were too many choices, and I often found myself dazed. Occasionally, I tried to read during those long nursing sessions, but my gaze would drift to her instead of the pages.
In December, I finally managed to finish a book. Then, in January and February, I read another. By March, my baby began sleeping for longer stretches, revealing a blissful window of time after bedtime and before she woke—time that was entirely mine.
And so, I immersed myself in reading. There’s something wonderfully escapist about this simple act. If reality keeps me grounded, fiction transports me elsewhere. Studies show that reading novels can enhance empathy over time. While news keeps me informed, fiction plunges me into new worlds.
With my newfound reading routine, I have been able to explore various places through stories. One night, I found myself in a quaint town by Lake Michigan, swept up in a romantic tale. Another evening, I wandered through a vibrant Tokyo konbini. I’ve also revisited Paris, felt the humidity of Sri Lanka, and savored pepper soup in Lagos.
The beauty of diving into a story is not just about the escape; it’s also about carving out time for myself. My days are filled with baby care—breastfeeding, helping her stand, and negotiating tiny luxuries. Even as I write this, I’m interrupted by her cries. In this cycle, there’s a thrill in breaking free and staying up late, indulging in something just for me. I know I’ll feel the effects of sleep deprivation tomorrow, but for now, it feels liberating. This late-night reading habit is a delightful rebellion against the responsibilities that consume my life.
I know this phase won’t last forever. Vaccinations are rolling out, and my daughter is growing quickly. One day, I’ll have more time to read, not just in the margins of my day. Someday, I’ll board a plane with my daughter and show her the world I love so dearly. I can’t wait.
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Summary:
This piece reflects on the author’s experience of being a new mom during the pandemic, highlighting the loss of travel and spontaneity. It explores how reading has become an essential escape, offering a glimpse into different worlds and experiences, while also emphasizing the joy of carving out personal time amidst the demands of motherhood.