Sometimes when I really think about myself as a mom (and how I know nothing), my mind wanders back to when my daughter was a week old.
She was a preemie and had just spent a week in the NICU, where my husband and I learned how to change her diaper, feed her, and bathe her. I know that sounds crazy. Shouldn’t those things come naturally to a parent? Maybe. But when your water breaks at 32 weeks and you’ve just spent three weeks in the hospital watching and waiting to see if your baby will be OK, all bets are off. My husband and I were completely out of our element. So much so that when it was finally time to go home, I remember the one thought that kept repeating in my head: “I can’t believe this hospital is letting me leave here—alone—with a newborn baby, a preemie no less.” How did they know I could handle it? How did they know I would be a good mom? That was more than six years ago, and I still think about it. I think about how scared and anxious and overwhelmed I felt back then. Happy and excited too, but mostly scared.
I had another one of these moments recently. My husband had a late meeting for work (6-8 p.m.) and I was here with our two kids, which is nothing out of the ordinary because I’m a stay-at-home. I’m always “home” with my kids. Anyways, I was sitting alone in my living room reading a book (the kids were watching TV in the family room) and suddenly it hit me: “Wow, I’m a mom. I’m here alone with two young humans and their survival depends on me and me alone. These kids are my responsibility for the rest of my life.”
I mean, obviously I know this, and I’ve known it since my daughter was born, but it’s easy to delude myself into thinking I know what I’m doing. And when I’m in the clutches of parenting, I tend to focus more on where we are today as opposed to what our life will look like five, 10, 20 years from now—and how it’s my (and my husband’s) responsibility to get us there. But then I’ll have a moment like that, and it blows my mind. Am I the only one who has these thoughts? Because they literally scare the crap outta me. They remind me how enormous a task my husband and I have taken on.
Think about it for a minute. At a certain point in our lives, we humans decide that we have what it takes to create, nurture, and mold another human being. That’s crazy! And kinda presumptuous, right?! I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve spent almost 42 (oh dear!!) years trying to figure things out for myself—myself!—and now here I am trying to figure things out for myself plus two. Hot damn that feels like an impossible task!
How do we prepare ourselves for this task? Because from where I’m standing, everything constantly changes. Just when my husband and I think we have a phase or issue all figured out, it morphs into something new and even more baffling. And we’re left scratching our heads wondering how we found ourselves back at stage 1. I have no easy answers for this critical question, and I wonder if I ever will. Sometimes I wish there was a parenting manual explaining all of this in minute detail. Like how to cope when life throws you the curveball of all curveballs.
Take now, for instance. We’re all in this new twilight zone of global pandemic and quarantine and as the weeks drag on, it’s becoming harder to keep our feelings and emotions in check. At least for me it is. As a parent, I feel like I’m under even more pressure because not only do I have to somehow navigate—and often ignore—my own fears and anxieties and stresses, but I’m also required to manage, understand, and soothe my children’s. That’s an enormous task even for the strongest, most capable parent. And we all know I’m not one of those. Most of us know how to handle and adapt to situations outside our control. That’s what it means to be a responsible adult, right? Granted, we may not always choose the best coping mechanisms (hello, wine!).
Our kids, on the other hand, are in the dark here because they’re young and immature and vulnerable, not to mention they’re only just learning how to grasp and deal with their own feelings and emotions. So, when they’re yanked out of their normal routines and thrust into a situation where they’re cut off from family and friends—one even many adults cannot fathom—our job as parents becomes even more challenging. Throw in a little lethargy, a sprinkling of tedium, and a few distinctive personalities and you have a recipe for disaster.
My son has good days and bad days but for the most part he distracts himself through make-believe play with his dinosaurs and coloring. My daughter is another story. I can see the toll this quarantine is having on her. She misses school and her friends and her autonomy. She’s struggling to cope with the boredom and the monotony, and her anxieties and fears are manifesting into some minor health issues. I wish I knew how to make it better. I do my best, but I am severely unequipped (and downright terrified) to delve into a child’s psyche. How the hell did I ever think I was equal to this task?!
This is one of those instances no one ever tells you about when you decide you want to start a family. Before you have kids, you think you know what you’re getting yourself into: sleepless nights, sleep training, diaper changes, breast feeding, teething, loss of freedom, the financial burden, schedules and routines, you get the gist. But parents are so woefully unaware of the critical, unspoken challenges—like the intense emotional and mental baggage wrapped up in child-rearing.
I have no idea how to help my daughter in these situations. Many times, my own anxieties and frustrations over how to solve her “traumas” (at least in her eyes)—or more clearly my inability to solve them—render me angry and impatient, two negative impulses that only serve to make matters worse. I think that’s what I find the most exhausting and debilitating thing about parenting: trying to nurture and mold and guide a human who’s essentially incapable of helping themselves (at least at a young, impressionable age) while also practicing self-care and self-preservation when you’re already hanging on by a thread. And I’m talking during the best of times. So where do we put all of this when we’re facing unprecedented times like these?
*Sigh*
This might be a day for one of my good cathartic crying sessions. It won’t really help anyone but me (and maybe not even me) but sometimes it’s impossible to prevent the tears from falling. And that’s OK, too.
I promised myself, though, that I would always search for the good, for the silver lining. So here goes: At least we aren’t sick. At least we’re together and safe at home. At least we aren’t on the front lines of this thing. I pray every day for those front-liners, as well as for those who are sick and dying and alone. I know I sound like a broken record but, honestly, what more can we ask for at this point? Trump just recently stated that 200,000-plus Americans are going to perish from the coronavirus. Like, what?! That’s unconscionable. When I think about it in those terms, our problems here at home seem so small and insignificant.
Part of me feels terrible and guilty for writing about our own familial concerns, but that’s how I process my thoughts and emotions. And putting them down on paper always brings a fresh (and much-needed) perspective in a way that not penning them does. I guess this is just a long-winded way of saying that despite the challenges we are all facing at home, it could be so much worse, and we need to make the time to step back, refocus, and truly appreciate the amazing blessings that are right in front of us, and that includes the boredom and the monotony.