Skiing on Fumes — The Wee Wanderer

A few years ago, our neighbor, a father of two, asked Travis a seemingly mundane question: “How are you?” Travis, not yet a dad, and therefore unaware that his honest answer would hit a nerve, replied, “Tired.” Something immediately altered in our normally amiable neighbor, who spat back, “You don’t even know, man. You don’t even KNOW!” before disappearing into his garage. We were perplexed by it then, but now we both realize he was right: we didn’t know.

And now, we know. We are very, very, very aware that having a baby comes with a level of crippling fatigue that you can’t really understand until you experience it. Levi has kept us on our toes throughout the past 22 months, changing up his sleep routine every month or so, so we don’t really know what to expect on any given night. Depending on his current pattern, it can be pretty tempting for us to slide into “can’ting” when it comes to daytime activities.

But we don’t. Because honestly, once we break the can’ting seal, who knows what will happen? Would we ever do anything even remotely strenuous again?

Take this past weekend: We had planned a ski weekend getaway with the faithful Hovee Family — Morgan, Luke, and wee Jack — who have proven their loyalty by spending several long weekends with us, including an infamous camping trip that had to be cut short due to Levi’s nighttime antics.

Dadas doing the heavy lifting on Sun Mountain

Our destination -- the incredible Methow Valley -- was about 5 hours away, so Travis and I decided to take off work a day early to break up the trip. We spent one night at a hotel in Wenatchee. The night was not easy, as Levi’s current routine involves short sleeping intervals punctuated by varying demands that almost always involve me or Travis hunched over the crib rubbing or patting his back, sometimes for more than an hour. (Have I mentioned that we’re in our 40s? Hunching over for an extended period of time is not something people in their 40s should be expected to do.) Travis, usually a quiet guy, always has something to say during these midnight pacification sessions: “What did we do to deserve this,” “What the Hell,” “Oh my God,” that sort of thing. Tonight it was: “Parenting sucks.” I didn’t feel compelled to reply.

But what Levi lacked in nighttime manners, he made up for the next day on the trail. Even Travis, who that morning had announced his intention of “never going on another trip again,” agreed that the day made up for the night. Levi spent the first 30 minutes vocalizing his excitement with the ride, shouting “Oh yeah!” on the downhills. And after the initial thrill wore off, he fell asleep, making up for the hours he’d missed the night before. Travis and I made two big loops, covering 10+ miles before pulling over to play with Levi in the snow.

The “Community Trail” outside Winthrop, WA

Back at the car, we celebrated the success of our day with a well-earned tailgate beer and a Caspar Babypants CD while we watched Levi stomp through the snow and spin around on the ice. Last night was a distant memory.

But the longer we stayed away from the comforts of home, the more drastic Levi’s nighttime antics became, culminating with me spending the majority of Sunday night sitting upright in a chair, nursing Levi back into silence to afford our friends some peace and quiet. (Jack, a co-sleeper, does not offer his parents the wild ride that has become synonymous with nighttime in the Menaul household. In fact, Monday morning, the last day of our trip, we ventured out of our room to find Morgan and Luke enjoying a cup of coffee like two normal adults while Jack slept in. Levi, on the other hand, has never out-slept us. And he hasn’t made it past 5:30 in weeks.)

And yet, we persevered. As if by some tacit agreement, Levi granted us three days of skiing without complaint. The sun and the exercise continued to refresh us, and every afternoon Travis and I were astounded at our ability to bounce back.

I am beginning to wonder whether the birth of a child unleashes a stash of energy only available to parents who “think they can.” Those who drag themselves out onto the trail and work so hard to convince themselves that they can do it, that they do it.

And honestly, if external motivation is your thing, at the end of a long ski on no sleep, you’ve worked about 10 times harder than any of those girls waiting in line at Starbucks after yoga class. (I’m talking to you, Old Me!) New Me deserves all the lattes. And the nachos and the beer, of course.

This crew deserves all the nachos! (This photo is a little blurry, but it really showcases Travis’s fatigue. And my bottomless supply of enthusiasm.)