Exploring Bend’s Baby Boom Through The Eyes Of A New Mother

By Kelley Moen, 7-22-08

	Caption: Mother and son.

Charlie loves being held.  He’s no dummy.  Who wouldn’t like the unyielding affection and unquestionable adoration from everyone who crosses his path?  Really, for the regular non-Hollywood star, when else in our life are we 100-percent certain that most every person we encounter will fall in love with us? 

Charlie has no doubts about this.  His favorite place is tightly wrapped in someone’s arms, anyone’s arms.  As a new mom, I like to believe mine are second-to-none, as my arms are the ones to calm the storm on most every occasion.  However, much to my chagrin, Charlie seems to have no preferences.  “Any arms’ll do,” he seems to say.  “Bring ’em on!”

Here in Bend, there is no shortage. 

The population increase between the year 2000 and 2005 nears 40 percent, as there were 52,029 people living in Bend in 2000 and nearly 72,000 by 2006.

With more people in Bend, schools are busting at their seams.  Bend has more than 10 public elementary/ middle schools and at least seven private elementary/ middle schools, but the baby-ballooning city needs more.  The Bend- La Pine School District is currently working on plans for a new school, a LEED-certified building that will make use of solar energy, in the Northwest Crossing area for grades kindergarten through fifth grade.

With new schools and more kids, we have lots of baby faces in the Bend neighborhoods.  And, with this bulging population, we have heaps of arms to hold those rascally rabbits. Kids rule the roost here in Bend.

In our house, Charlie is ruler- “King Charles” we call him at 2 a.m. when he’s demanding food, and yes, manipulating the arms of his loving servant-parents.

However, I had never left him in any other arms for very long until just recently. 

That first step toward letting go, the first time a parent parts from his or her infant, is monumental. In Bend, baby central of the Cascades, I’m sure there are a zillion versions. Here’s mine:

I didn’t want to go. 

THEY basically pushed me out the door. 

“You need this,” THEY said.  “A get-away will be good for you.  A float will be relaxing.”

THEY, Charlie’s Grammie and Grampie, were thrilled to have us visit them in western Montana.  By day three, they were even more thrilled to get me out of the cabin into the warm 90-degree sunshine, away from my not-yet three-month-old son, and to have what I imagined “Charlie-time” to themselves.

I hesitated.  I hemmed.  I hawed.  Two full hours away on the river, inaccessible for the first time ever from my baby?!?!  Maybe I could be reachable by helicopter in case of an emergency?  Maybe the mayor, known for her frequent jet-ski jaunts up and down this stretch of the Clark Fork River could pick me up for a quick return if need be?  Maybe my adrenaline would propel me downstream in the inflatable kayak at a record-breaking clip like Tom Cruise in “Mission Impossible”?  Most likely, though, I would be at the sheer will of the spring run-off and my own vigorous paddling if I wanted to get back to Charlie in fewer than two hours.

THEY pushed me out.

As Charlie’s Grampie shuttled me away, the inflatable blue kayak tied to the roof of the Highlander, I looked back and saw my mother (whose same arms held me nearly 30 years ago) holding my tiny son on the porch, one hand waving goodbye.  Tears trickled down my face, sunscreen dripping into my eyes, as we drove away.

The float was terrible.  It was a far cry from the promise of relaxation.  Although I saw the elegant looping of eagles circling overhead, their effort to feed their eaglettes in sky-high nests made me feel all the more guilty for leaving my little one.  I heard osprey and saw the occasional deer.  But my mind was on Charlie at the cabin.  Forget all this peaceful nature stuff!  I’d deserted my son! 

I admit that I listened for the hovering rescue helicopter.  Around every bend I watched out for the flashing red lights of the mayor’s jet ski.  And as I floated under every bridge, I paused for a moment to hear the unmistakable scream of the rural ambulance coming to warm me of an emergency with my son.  And, since I’m admitting things, I even had a cell phone secure in a Ziploc bag inside a drybag at my feet despite the chance that cell coverage was absolute zero.

Finally, after an agonizing float, I rounded the last homeward bend (the same bend where my husband and I, dressed in our wedding attire, began the “wedding float” in our drift boat between the church ceremony and the reception at the river cabin six years ago).

There, high on the riverbank, waived a Peace Flag.  Grampie, illuminated in his white tee shirt, stood against the backdrop of ponderosa pines and tamaracks surrounding the cabin.  He was waiving his Peace- Flag arms.

“It’s OK,” I imagined him to be saying.  I was out of earshot, furiously paddling toward him on the river.  “You’re right!  You should NEVER leave your child ever again,” I imagined him reassuring me.  I also imagined him telling my mom, “Quick, get Charlie comfortable.  Pretend that everything went well.” “Here,” he seemed to say from high on the riverbank, “take this as a peace offering and you will NEVER have to experience this ever again.  Not even when Charlie leaves for his first day of pre-school, or when he hops on the school bus for the first time, or even when he graduates or gets married!  You’ll never miss him, ever!” His Peace-Flag body waived, assuring me of all of this.

But when I swiftly beached the kayak and scrambled up the bank to assess the damage of my departure, Charlie was fast asleep in his Grammie’s arms, as he’d been during the entirety of my terrible float.

Charlie was asleep?  In the arms of his grandparents, not mine?  With a defeated sigh and my heart on my sleeve, I finally relaxed and cried so even Grampie saw.  My Charlie didn’t even miss me.

If you have a parent “first-parting” story to share, or you’d like to comment on this or the school situation and baby boom in Bend, please do so below.