Parenting and the pandemic

Last night, once the kids were finally in bed (S recently discovered that he can climb out of his crib! Exciting!), I just wanted to crawl into the fetal position - which is what I did. I had nothing left to give. As I curled up on my couch, all I could think was that I couldn’t do this anymore. Not for another day. Another week. Another month. I would’ve called it quits then and there; but, of course, that was never a real option.

I know for a fact that I’m not alone in the way that I am feeling, and yet it feels so lonely. I lost it again this afternoon, just like I have every day lately. Snapping doesn’t surprise me any longer; it just makes me incredibly sad in its aftermath. Inevitably, there comes a time in the day when I can’t stand the yelling any longer. I can’t explain to S again that he can’t watch TV right now. I can’t explain once again that I’m trying to work, or that I’m trying to study. I can’t deal with wrestling with my kids to get their clothes on to go out for some fresh air; only to come back to another wrestle to get them clean.

Full disclosure: My husband and I are incredibly lucky in the sense that we’ve had help all this time. My (fairy) godmother came to Germany with us back in January, and got stranded here due to Covid-19. She goes above and beyond to support us, and yet…

I am still the mother. I am still a mother who is starting a new career. I am still a mother while working part-time, and I am still a mother while studying full-time. I prioritize my kids (and I always will), but I’ve been pregnant and/or breastfeeding for the past 3+ years. I had just started to feel like my own person again when the lockdown hit. And, to be frank, I refuse to let that feeling go - but juggling everything is proving to be near impossible.

This pandemic is taking its toll on so many aspects of our lives; personally, it’s taking the biggest hit at my parenting skills. I started off optimistic - at first, day care centers were supposed to reopen in 5 weeks. I was excited to have breakfast with the kids every day without having to rush out the door. I looked forward to doing yoga with S in the afternoon. I looked forward to the quiet moments nursing L before putting her down for her nap. It was scary, but I really thought we could make it work. Fast forward two months, I’m not so sure that we can.

But again, of course, “not making it” is not a real option. At what cost, though?

I’ve been reading about the toll that this pandemic has had (and will continue to have) on mental health. I personally haven’t had mental health issues in the past (other than a lingering hint of anxiety). I am, by all standards, a healthy individual. I am happily married. I have a roof over my head. I love living where I live. My kids are healthy. I am so, so grateful. Yet, I too am losing it.

By this point I’ve given up on reading the news. If it isn’t about the day care centers reopening at least partially, I’m not interested. I was livid when I heard that playgrounds would reopen before the day care did. How exactly does that help working parents (someone still has to take the kids and watch them)? Let’s also talk about what a brilliant idea it is to mix different groups of kids every day. Every time I pass by the one near our place, it’s packed. Day cares are still closed. I am still losing it.

Tell me I’m not the only one who isn’t quite a model for positive parenting these days. It is so hard to admit that you’re failing as a parent, but can we be honest for a second? We could all benefit from knowing that we are not alone in this; now more than ever. We’ve gone from having bad days to having bad weeks (months?). And as of yet, there is no light at the end of the tunnel, which for me is by far hardest part of this whole ordeal.

Yes, former generations had it rougher and many, many, many people still do - but we are all allowed to feel shitty every once in a while. And, to be frank, this is the worst I’ve felt in as long as I can remember.

Bottom line is: I absolutely love my kids unconditionally, but I need a break and I won’t find it in my weekend glass of wine. Make no mistake when you see happy pictures of my kids on social media (or anyone’s kids, I’m confidently assuming). The struggle, my friends, is extremely real.

If you have any proven coping methods, do send them my way. Let us virtually lean on each other. I know this will pass, but until it does, I guess we just have to our best not to lose our minds - one day at a time.

The half-year mark

It's dumbfounding just how much a little being can teach you in half a year. I can't help but acknowledge that had it been any ordinary 6 months (and not my son's first half year on Earth), I wouldn't have necessarily valued them. I would've gone ahead with work, grateful for some projects and making do with others. All of a sudden it would've been fall, then winter. I would plan a nice trip with my husband. I would've enjoyed the straightforwardness of it all, and I would've perhaps appreciated the freedom to do whatever I wanted. Yet, I know there's nothing I could've done in that time that would have been nearly as gratifying and mesmerizing as watching my kid develop, and noticing myself develop with him.

It hasn't been without its (many) challenges. As a parent in 2018 one can't help but compare oneself - and one's baby - to others on Instagram. Or, you know, any social channel. It's an extremely slippery slope. I'll watch videos of adorable babies holding their little feet up at 4 months. S started doing that last week. I'll see extremely precocious babies holding their weight on their little legs at 3 months or, more commonly, rolling over at 5. S isn't really interested yet, and my concerns do not afflict him. He's on no one's schedule but his own.

In his first six months of life, my son has taught me to appreciate every little squeal, every laughter, naps and even poopy diapers. Try as I might to assist him into reaching another "milestone", he'll stare back at me as if to say: Relax. Take it in. You'll miss this. He has taught me that now that he's around everything is different, and he's the one making the rules of my new life. Being in control has become just as important as learning to let go.

It all goes by too fast, as everyone truthfully says. For the past half-year I've looked forward to this moment - when I wouldn't need to sterilize bottles all the time, when he'd be able to eat solids, when I'd start getting him all the cool, bright, loud interactive toys and squeeze some extra giggles out of him. When I could try and tone down being a germaphobe, and when he'd start reaching significant milestones. Now that it's here, I wish it would slow down. Part of me looks eagerly forward to that first step; the other part truly appreciates that my son has decided to take his time, at least for now.

Two days ago S started teething, and as he cried on and off into the night it stirred up all kinds of feelings. Frustration, yes, but also the realization that this is parenthood. One day he can barely open his eyes, and a moment later his first little teeth are starting to show. No one's life, not even his, will stop for me to get my bearings and adjust to the passing of time. The flip side is that trying to soothe a crying child at 3am by any means possible is as real and as in-the-present as it gets. This, while realizing that the one thing that makes him feel better is something as simple as your smell. Realizing half-asleep that at 6 months, as from day 1, you're your little one's everything, and that he'll forever be yours, too. 

Thank you, so much, to every precious moment within this half-year mark for teaching me this much.