I grew up in Atlanta, a place I hardly ever think about, a place I sometimes forget that I even have a connection to. You see, my family isn't Southern. My father was raised in Michigan, my mother in Connecticut -- our time in the South simply a brief, consolidated period in our family history.
I left as soon as I could, heading to Vermont at 18, never looking back. I've now been gone almost as long as I was there. New York, California and now the Midwest shaping me just as much as Atlanta ever did.
Like I said, I hardly ever think about the South, and so touching down at Louis Armstrong airport just outside of New Orleans last week I was surprised to feel such a rush of familiarity. I can't even say what brought it on. The light touch of humidity in the air? The flatness of the surrounding land? The lilting twang in the voices around me, or perhaps the dogwoods and magnolias already in bloom in February.
Whatever it was, my four days in New Orleans last week were suffused with memories, things I hadn't thought of in years, singular moments with my parents, parties at old Southern homes, spring in the South, Spanish moss and the smell of wisteria.
We arrived in New Orleans last week on Ash Wednesday, the day AFTER Mardi Gras.
I've visited New Orleans several times in my life, but my last time was there was close to a decade ago. Greg and Veronica had never been. We chose New Orleans back in December when we decided that, instead of giving each other Christmas presents, we'd put our money towards getting out of town during Chicago's least desirable month of February.
But I started getting anxious about the trip a week before we left. When we planned this trip there was a part of me determined to prove that we could still take fun trips even though we have a baby, but suddenly I was filled with doubt. Why did we pick New Orleans again? With a baby? The day after Mardi Gras? We should have just gone to the Bahamas or stayed home altogether.
But off to Louisiana we flew.
You see the thing about being a parent is this: You're fighting a constant battle between retaining your sense of self while simultaneously giving yourself over to what's best for your kid. It's tough. And I can't shake this determination to still do things like this trip.
Before we left I promised myself that I wouldn't get upset about the limitations that would be surely set by Veronica (early bedtimes, low alcohol consumption, etc), and that I would try to remind myself that it was enough that we were all just out in the world together.
Easier said than done.
Cut to me trying to force Greg to drink a mint julep from Pat O'Brien's in the middle of the afternoon...just because I couldn't.
For the most part though we had a fantastic time, even if we did manage to watch an entire season of Entourage due to Veronica's early bedtimes. I kept thinking about the differences between this trip and my last, one of them being that the last time I was in the French Quarter I had a fake ID and this time no one was even asking for my ID.
I saw things on this trip that I'd never seen on previous trips, beautiful cemeteries and hidden nooks of the French Quarter. We focused a lot on food, which I'll write about in full on Friday. And we walked and walked and walked, taking in the city the way you take an exhibit at the museum, meandering slowly from piece to piece.
At night in our hotel room I closed my eyes and remembered my childhood. I couldn't even help it. The moment we turned off the light and I turned to one side, my arm tucked in under the pillow, the memories came. The house we lived in Sandy Springs, the magnolia trees with their flat, waxy leaves and the creek in the woods that ran red with Georgia clay.
During the day we took turns strapping Veronica to our chests and walking the city. Her eyes grew bright as we strolled through the square or listened to jazz music at Cafe du Monde, her hand opening and closing in a little wave at no one in particular.
Parenthood has changed everything, and I thought about this every time the three of us sat down in a little cafe somewhere, Veronica in between us, her little existence the conduit for all the energy that flows between me and Greg. I thought about how in another year we'll have been parents as long as we were a couple. About how one day we'll look back and realize that our time together just the two of us will have long been eclipsed by our time with her.
This made me sad in moments, but grateful in others.
And I guess that's the thing of it. We can't change who we've become. We can only move forward from here, we can only continue to become more of who we are now.