Adrift on my Pirate Ship

My toes are not going to sink into the sand next week.  Instead of to the beach I'm headed on a different kind of adventure.  It's funny the way life goes.  I have always longed for adventure.  As a child our wooden swing set was a ship, a fort, a barn for my horse (my bike).  Our neighborhood was full of dangers, imagined ones, and every curb was a hedge that my horse would jump over, tires on concrete, knees skinned in the street.

As a woman adventure seems somewhat distant, and my travels through Europe as a college junior seem so long ago, some ten years ago, every one of which I feel the full stretch of.  Motherhood is an adventure, but it is also the practice of discipline in sameness.  Tuck in the corners of the bedsheets, fold the clothes, scrub the counters, repeat.

Now it is my turn.  I am setting off on my own pirate ship, and no one can stop me.  I wish my boys could come along, but this is an adventure for me alone.  They are helping me with the provisions no less.  This morning they climbed aboard my ship, my bed, and we cuddled together against the storm, watching Mosters Inc previews on my laptop and giggling together.  Soon my bed will seem like a simple fishing boat, and the hospital bed will replace it -- for months if all goes as planned.

As I take the first steps, walking around my ship still afloat in the harbor and deciding what holes need to be patched, the doctors are helping with some of the provisions.  They are stocking my cargo hold with their treatment plans and ultrasounds.  As they load the cargo, lifting with their strong shoulders, they remind me that they can't come along.

It is becoming clear that my provisions will be found on my journey.  The winds will have to carry my ship and along the way I hope the fishing's bountiful.  I hear the water's fine, and in fact the blue of the sea is supposed to be a sight to behold.

Apparently fear is normal before a long voyage out to sea.  Oddly, I don't often feel it.  In many ways I am looking forward to this, even though I know of the dangers.  I remember sailing in the winters on my high school's sailing team.  There was a thrill in the ride, hiking out of the boat with my toes curled in the hiking straps and my wet hair slapping my cheeks as salty water stung my eyes.  The winds were uncontrollable, all I could control was my response to the dips in the wind and the waves.  Even in those frustrating moments when the wind flagged and we had to force the mast far out, then tilt the boat to catch the edge of the stubbornly quiet breeze, even then there was a simple joy of being out on the water.

The baby inside me -- Samuel is his name -- is coming with me.  He and I are off on an adventure.  It is our hope to reach the other side of the ocean.  Somehow, though, I imagine that one of the sweetest times of our life together will be this crossing.