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OPINION

In the spring of 2020, amidst a global pandemic and a canceled vacation, I decided to finally get my motorcycle license. With a clear social calendar and nowhere to go, it seemed like the perfect time to learn. Plus, it was the ultimate social distancing activity — I even had a plastic visor across my face.

It was a beautiful, mild spring and with my partner’s help I had my license in no time. We cruised backcountry roads and explored sleepy nearby towns. I loved zooming down the straight stretches and watching the cows stare as we whipped by.

And then I got pregnant. And I stopped riding my motorcycle.

The baby came the following March. It was another beautiful spring. I had a gorgeous blue-eyed baby boy in my arms and one thing was for sure — I wasn’t jumping back on a motorcycle any time soon.

I parked my bike in the garage and hit the pavement with a stroller instead. My son and I enjoyed meandering down the country roads, stopping to say “moo” to the cows and, when he was older, indulging in the occasional wheelie.

I figured I’d get back to motorcycling eventually. Spring turned to summer. My motorcycle lay dormant in the garage, its sole purpose these days a place to hang baby sun hats and muslin cloths on our way in the door.

Months slipped by and I just didn’t have the motivation or the time to go riding. Turns out, having a baby is pretty all-consuming. Go figure.

By the fall, I decided to put the bike up for sale. It was taking up precious space in the garage, wedged between a bike stroller, a playpen and a Little Tikes car. We all stood in the driveway and waved bye-bye as its new owner sped off into a dusty sunset.

My one consolation was that my husband had promised to refurbish a vintage 1980s Yamaha motorcycle into my dream bike: a cafe racer. If you don’t know what that is, a cafe racer is a custom-style bike that originated in the 1950s and 60s in the UK. Retro, sleek, way too cool for my current lifestyle.

My husband tinkered on it over the winter, but neither of us realized how busy we’d be with our now crawling baby. We spent most of our spare time cooking baby food, cleaning up baby food off the floor, and doing laundry. There wasn’t much time for anything else.

Every time I passed the bike — now ridable but not quite finished — on my way out through the garage I felt a pang of guilt. My husband had put all this time into it and here I was neglecting it. I felt a pressure to get back on a bike even though I didn’t really feel like doing it anymore. I was having the time of my life taking my nine-month-old son on stroller walks, giving him baths, playing peek-a-boo and watching his seemingly daily acquisition of new skills.

When the next spring came, I confessed to my husband that I doubted I would ride the bike any time soon. Eventually, yes, but not right now. I just didn’t have the mental or physical space. What I needed was some serious spring cleaning — more like pruning — to clear out the clutter and allow me to focus on these precious baby days.

We listed the half-finished bike on Marketplace and a young man and his fiancé came to view it a few weeks later. Like me, he was looking for something he could customize into a cafe racer. I watched him test drive it on the driveway. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit jealous as I bounced my son on my hip.

I chatted with the man’s fiancé while he inspected the bike with my husband. She rode a motorcycle too. They were getting married in August, planning to start a family in the next few years. They reminded me of us, before kids. I remembered so clearly what it was like to fantasize about starting a family. The prospect of parenthood felt like an open road stretched out before me, a destination on the horizon. I was on route, but had time for detours and pit-stops. I’ll admit, there was a lot more freedom then.

But there’s also a freedom in letting go. In recognizing that life is a long road and it’s OK to save things for later.

After we agreed upon a price, I asked the fellow to send me pictures of the bike when he’d finished customizing it.

“And just one piece of advice for you,” I said. “Make sure you finish it before you have kids.”

— Charlotte Helston gave birth to her first child, a rambunctious little boy, in the spring of 2021. Yo Mama is her weekly reflection on the wild, exhilarating, beautiful, messy, awe-inspiring journey of parenthood.

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