Pandemic Parenting

My daughter shrieks in excitement, "Look, mommy! Look!" A notebook is shoved in my face where tiny green C's march down the margins amid the various other scribbles and scratches. There it is. The letter C is clear and cascading victoriously and my four- year old is proudly dancing around like a prima ballerina at center stage. I high-five her while also reaching for the binky that has fallen out of my newborn son's mouth before his whimpers become full-blown shrieks. His warm body is pressed against my chest in a quickly tied together carrying wrap and I can feel my shirt strangling me underneath it. He has been so suffocating with his constant need to be so close to me that they might as well put him back inside. Behind me, my two- year old son has scooted his highchair to the counter to reach the fruit snacks I told him he couldn't have. He has a determination and stubbornness I don't know whether to blame on his father or take credit for but it makes him a formidable opponent when it comes to saying no. I'm trying not to yell but it's hard day 513 of this pandemic. It is easy to become overwhelmed this far in when I have lost my part-time bartending job to become a full- time stay- at -home mom and I have added a child to the mix. Not to mention, my Facebook friends have taken the time to turn their living rooms into Montessori classrooms or have their children in every play gym and art class activity. In the face of this, I could almost convince myself I am failing as a mother on the days my children watch CSI: NY and Forensic Files all day. We are well into the second year of this thing and the excitement of learning how to bake bread has faded into forcing me to stream an exercise video to the tv and work out with my toddlers crawling around me saying, "Mommy, can we work out with you?" I am grateful to be exercising at all after having two strokes, being unable to move half my body, and being in a wheelchair for the Summer and Fall of 2020. Wrapping up 2021, I am grateful for a lot of things, big and small.

For some, this pandemic has been like an extended vacation, but we are like the many for whom this forced vacation was not fun. Vacations usually don't include the death of a grandparent, an aunt, two college classmates, and two strokes that put you in a wheelchair. Vacations don't normally get you sober, although they might lead to a new baby. 2020 was not a vacation for me and I am sure it felt the same for anyone else who did not receive the stimulus checks and whose unemployment checks fizzled out to the unanswered phone calls of their local office. This year and a half of unemployment were painful for my husband, an audio engineer who depends on people gathering for concerts and conferences to get paid. The kids and I were initially grateful to get so much daddy time after being used to his long and crazy hours but soon became overwhelmed by the disruptions his presence gave our routine. I spent a year and a half putting off making a schedule because, "Woo, it's pandemic times baby!," to have toddlers stay up until 1 am and wake up at 8 am and I can't seem to get to bed before four. I've been trying to fix this schedule since New Year's Eve. Finally, he has started to get work again and my family has a routine for me to write on my chalkboard calendar in the hall.

This year was an enormous amount of pressure for everyone to learn a skill or start a business in 2020 so that in 2021 you could return to productivity. I was no different, ready to take on the world until I couldn't feel my face. When I got sick, everything changed, and managing toddlers through pain and exhaustion gave me a crash course in faith, love, and how to count every lesson learned as a win. Every "pee-pee" that made it into the potty that I didn't have to clean up; WIN. When my one and three-year-old became two and four and could really clean up after themselves by picking up all their toys; WIN. When we take naps on our own or sleep in in the morning definitely a win that made it easier for a chronically ill, pandemic burnt-out Mom toughing out her third pregnancy a lot easier. Or at least as easy as it could be for someone with hyperemesis gravid arum who would occasionally throw up blood. I spent nine months nauseous and those first meals after my third baby was born were major victories just because I held them down. My son also spent his first few days in the NICU, returning to the hospital a week after his discharge for breathing problems. Every weird, croaky, raspy breath he takes is a win and every loud cry hopes for strengthening lungs. My walker and my wheelchair lurk in my living room as hulking reminders of weeks of physical and occupational therapy I should still do because of lingering numbness in my feet and side. So my Facebook friends can have their play gyms and Montessori living rooms because we have our dance parties back when I have the energy, and CSI/ Forensic Files marathons when I don't, and either way my children are learning and loved.

This pandemic has forced me to completely change how I parent my children and relate to my husband. Out of necessity, I have learned not to sweat the small stuff, worrying constantly if everything is Instagram or Facebook perfect. Sometimes everybody gets a bath and picks out their own clothes and gets their hair braided or twisted since I taught myself how to do that. Sometimes everybody eats cereal in their underwear. Both days, I have learned how to roll with what kind of day we're having. Spending all of 2020 sick and teaching myself how to walk and toughing through the worse of my pregnancies, I rejoice in those small wins. My newborn son came home from the NICU after I cried for five days. My two- year old is potty training although there is sometimes pee on the floor. I taught myself how to cornrow and twist everyone's hair so I do my husband's hair for work and it has increased our intimacy. And today my four- year old drew a C. People are dead. 628,000 people at last count, including family and friends I miss every day. I am sober, alive, have an adorable new baby, can walk and dance again, and I can make you an amazing loaf of beautiful bread if you want one. If my children solve a crime today while I clean the house instead of what I think everybody else is doing, it is still a good day and I am still a good mother. They are fed, clothed, happy, safe, and can tell you what Luminal is. In this house, that is a win!