Today I feel like having a big, fat cry. A full tilt, snuffling, ugly one.
Why? Because it’s been raining and fairly cold for the past several days in my little part of the world (the Midwestern U.S.) and so there’s been less of what has kept me sane during all of this pandemic business. Namely, going for walks and runs outside in the sun with my son. Today, I would love nothing more than to take him for a completely mundane stroll through the mall during which we buy only coffee and maybe a little trinket for him that he completely doesn’t need but smiles at.
But I’m not doing that.
Because it doesn’t feel responsible or safe or smart or necessary. And my little family has been as careful as possible about not doing things that don’t feel responsible or safe or smart or necessary since February. (We’ll keep it up for as long as it takes for a working vaccine to be readily available and for the numbers to go down.)
The weather and my mood will pass. I’ll be fine. I get that.
But it does remind me that I’m walking around with a low (sometimes not so low) level of emotions I’m mostly ignoring because I want to be positive and happy and grateful and focused on my son. And I am positive and happy and grateful and focused on my son. But I’m also really, really angry.
I am angry that this pandemic is happening at all, that there are people not taking it seriously and not being as careful as they can be (I will never understand this). I’m angry that our government has absolutely failed to do anything about it, yet apparently wants to say it’s over. Most of all, I’m mad as hell that it has gotten this bad in the first place because it. did. not. have. to. be. this. way.
I could go on and on about how masks are common sense and caring about other people should be common too, or about how a federal government that passes the buck to local, individualized governments — letting them all make their own rules in an enormous country with 48 contiguous states that have open borders for God’s sake — is a completely inept, idiotic and selfish government that even a second-grader could outwit. (No offense meant to second-graders who are delightful and lovely.)
But I’ll just stop here with the following: It’s not over, and it’s not going to be over any time soon. The effects will be felt by every single person and we will all pay for it in some way, even if we are fortunately not one of the 226,000+ Americans who have already paid with their lives.
I’m often reminded by others that my son is not going to remember that he didn’t get to stroll through the mall or play with a fellow group of babies or spend a few hours with his grandparents while his moms went on a date. And that’s true and great. But I will. I will remember.
When I let myself think about it, which I usually don’t, I become livid about the moments that have been stolen from my family this year. Especially the small ones. I feel the absence of each missed “Oh my gosh, he’s adorable! How old is he?” from strangers. And each “Look at this! Watch what he’s doing now!” with a face-to-face friend who, in normal times, would actually be in the room, waiting to wrap their arms around him as he toddles forward.
Being a new mother (or parent in general — here’s to you new papas and foster parents and guardians and aunties, etc.) — can be isolating and challenging enough any old time, but it’s even more so if you’re living in the Covid Upside Down. I try not to think about this or dwell on it or let it get me upside down. I try to count my blessings and be grateful and all that good stuff because I’m very, very blessed and all that even better stuff. But I’m still a person, and I’m still a new mom, and so sometimes I want to:
Ugly cry.
Run 10 miles. (Fine. Only two.)
Curse at MSNBC and anything orange.
Eat a pound of cheese dipped in a vat of sour cream and onion dip (Can’t do it, not because I’m breastfeeding and don’t want to eat garbage that I pass on to my kid, but because I went and decided to become vegan during this pandemic fucker.)
Hit things.
However, if I take a breath and move away from all of this inner rage for a moment, I do feel so very grateful for my family (best wife EVER), my health, and this time at home with my so-incredibly-awe-inspiring son.
I suppose the main thing I want to say to anyone reading this, who may be struggling like I am or in worse or different ways, is that the roller coaster you’re on is not your fault. The Upside Down is only known as the Upside Down because there is a Right Side Up. And we will get back to it. Maybe it will even be righter and more up than before (not that that would make it okay that this shit show is happening.) In the meantime, know that you can be both grateful and mad as hell and a devoted connoisseur of any cheese within a 30-mile radius.
One more thing. I see you. You are doing the very best you can. It is enough. Hang in there. And please vote.
The More You Mom 