My first book tour was scheduled during my 6th month of pregnancy. I was at the height of the term, a ripe pumpkin glowing with the early autumn light. My doctor said I would be fine for air travel, full of energy, big as a house and raring to go. And then, the tour was cancelled — rescheduled for 6 weeks after the birth! Time was not measured by calendar months any longer, all calculations from there in would be BB (before baby) and AB (after baby).
This was not my first baby, so I knew what to expect. But it was my first book and I anticipated the birth of the book like an anxious parent. Even now, when I recall a date I associate it with the age of my children as those birthdays seem to outshine all other events. Perhaps I had a little too much confidence in the whole seasoned mother thing, or it was pure determinism, come hell or high water I am making this book tour. The war waging the mother hormones began.
Mother of three, I decided to leave the big boy home with his father. My daughter, just six was the most put out by the arrival of a sibling, so I packed her up to go on an adventure with mommy and the baby as my little au pere. Grand plan.
It was all very exciting heading to the airport from Anchorage, flying with the newborn, eating those little bags of peanuts and drinking juice on the airplane on our way to Portland, Oregon to the Pacific Northwest Booksellers Association Trade Show in the downtown convention center. I was thrilled and my enthusiasm fueled the children. Look at our lovely hotel room! Beds to jump on! A tv! A fridge! Even an iron and hair dryer! Little soaps! The small joys of travel. Let’s open the curtains and look at the city!
The lights of Portland sparkled. I was so happy to be there at last, to fall into that big bed and nurse the baby. My daughter stood stoically at the picture window gazing at the sights. She turned suddenly, tears streaming down her face, “Mommy, I miss Alaska!”
At home, from our mountaintop perch above Anchorage we could also see city lights although very tiny and far away. My six-year old nanny was homesick. We had ten days to go. My heart sank into my soft post childbirth stomach. What was I thinking?
from Coyote In Love, A Tale of Love and the Way Things Came to Be
This was just Day One. We’d made it to the Lower Forty-Eight and there was no stopping me now. After all the book is about a tale of love and the ways things came to be. On Day Two, my six-year old was signing books, the conference hospitality folks were holding the newborn as the line for book signing Coyote In Love was as long as I could see above my happy tears.