At our first dinner on Hurtigruten’s MS Trollfjord, my parents and I spent most of the meal imagining what my 3-year-old son would have thought.
Aksel would have picked at the bread, asked how many courses of “real food” were left before dessert, and probably driven his Hot Wheels through the butter.
Instead, he stayed home in Denmark with my husband while my mom, dad, and I sailed south from Svalbard, a Norwegian archipelago in the High Arctic.
Outside, black mountains and sharp cliffs rose from the Arctic waters. Inside, the aquavit was so strong my mother took one sip, winced, and passed the glass to my father.
Since Aksel was born, I hadn’t spent more than a few hours alone with my parents. Without his commentary and toy cars, the quiet felt unsettling.
My parents are grandparents in short bursts. They fly from Connecticut to Copenhagen, where my husband and I have lived for almost a decade, spend a few jet-lagged weeks with us, then go months without seeing Aksel except on FaceTime.
When Aksel was born, they became “Momma G” and “Poppy,” and I became “Momma.” When they visit, he becomes the main event.
With an ocean between us, they get little time simply to be my parents.
Traveling with my parents made me feel like their daughter again
Before we boarded the ship, we spent three days in Longyearbyen, Svalbard’s largest settlement. My parents rarely visit Europe, except to see us.
Svalbard was far from their usual trip to Copenhagen, and they were in awe. On the drive from the airport, my mother leaned so close to the taxi window that her breath fogged the glass. My father kept asking how dark it gets in winter and how the grocery store gets fresh fruit.
Years of solo travel before marriage and motherhood made me efficient but jaded. Seeing Svalbard through my parents’ eyes made travel feel extraordinary again.
Their reminders (“Drink water!”, “Stay warm!”, “Let me carry that!”) instantly took me back to high school. A few years ago, I would have rolled my eyes. Now I ask Aksel if he’s hungry while he’s in the middle of eating.
One afternoon, my mother told me she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so relaxed on vacation.
I laughed because my mom does not relax on vacation. She anticipates everyone’s needs and helps before anyone asks. When she visits Denmark, she dresses and feeds Aksel, fully embracing her role as grandmother.
For once, nobody needed anything from either of us. She could drink her coffee and watch the fjords while I sat beside her with nothing to manage. That slower pace of the sailing helped make the week restorative.
We talked about work, family, health, and how my experience of motherhood across an ocean had been both wonderful and disorienting after years of fierce independence.
We also got on each other’s nerves. My parents kept asking the same questions, and I grew impatient at times.
But I had missed having enough time together to stop being on our best behavior. They knew me before I had a career, a husband, a Danish address, or anyone calling me Momma.
I realized I couldn’t keep saving trips with my parents for later
I missed Aksel, but I knew the trip would have been different with him there: snacks and dropped forks at dinner, bathroom breaks, and tired legs on excursions.
My parents and I would have traveled as a mother and two grandparents.
Living in Denmark while my parents are in Connecticut makes every visit feel too short. The distance makes time more visible. Aksel changes between FaceTime calls, and each visit reminds me that my parents are aging, too.
I want Aksel to know his grandparents beyond a screen, but I also want time alone with the people who raised me. As an immigrant, I rarely feel there is enough time for both.
We talk about how quickly childhood passes, but less about how limited our time with our own parents can feel. They won’t always be able to join me on adventures like this.
I didn’t leave Aksel home because I needed a break from motherhood. I left him at home because my parents could still make the trip, and I couldn’t assume we’d get another chance.
When I returned, Aksel wrapped his arms around me before I had taken off my coat and showed me a toy car I had seen dozens of times.
On our next family trip, he will probably be at the center of everything, and I will be glad he’s there. But for one week, my parents didn’t have to be Momma G and Poppy, and I didn’t have to organize every day around a toddler.
