COVID-19 Threw a Wrench in My Postpartum Survival Plans

You know what’s funny? The week before the world shut down due to COVID-19, Aaron and I made the decision to put our 2-year-old in daycare five mornings a week instead of three so that I could focus on my mental health, which had taken a hit thanks to late onset baby blues with a newborn and 11 months of no sleep finally catching up with me. Sleep schedule was as follows:

First trimester: I peed an average of seven (7) times per night. I’m not kidding. And one night I also had the distinct pleasure of throwing up 7 different times.

Second trimester: Severe pregnancy insomnia, often keeping me awake for 2-4 hour windows overnight.

Third trimester: I mean, it’s the third trimester. You have a bowling ball in your stomach that makes sleep nearly impossible thanks to the discomfort.

Fourth trimester: In charge of a newborn who, like all newborns, thinks day is night and night is day.

I’ve learned that not sleeping for a year won’t actually kill you, but it’ll kind of make you wish it had. I say that dramatically, but also not.

The plan seemed foolproof. Temporarily—for only a month or two— we’d up Anders’ school hours from 15 hours a week to 25 hours. It’d still be part time, but more than before so that I could take a nap when our newborn napped or get on the elliptical or just generally fill my cup so that I could continue giving both kids the best of me. Plus Anders would get the added benefit of learning from his beloved teachers and playing with his friends more often, which reliably puts him in a great mood and helps him become a better, more socially adept human. Of course the benefits were accompanied by a healthy dose of guilt on top of my exhaustion/blues because half the world still likes to say “you have no interest in parenting your children if you willingly pawn them off to daycare”—especially if you’re a stay-at-home-mom like me. (I read those exact words on a Facebook post last week. Fun times.) For some reason, the parenting police seem to prefer at-home moms who pawn their kids off on Daniel Tiger instead of a loving, educational caretaker, but HEY! What do I know. (Side note, if your kid watches Daniel Tiger, I do not care. My point is that we’re all loving moms making the best calls we can.) Either way, I’m not skilled at separating logic from societal norms and self-righteous internet trolls, so the guilt lived on. (Not enough for me to keep him home 24/7, but still.)

Then Coronavirus said “I see your exhaustion, difficult toddler, and fool-proof plan of action, and raise you a global pandemic.”

Touché.

Guys, I’m not an idiot (all the time). I know that I’m deeply immersed in a life of privilege. We have the means to parent as we see fit—daycare or not. We have the stability of Aaron’s career in the Coast Guard (if you don’t count picking up our entire lives and relocating every few years). We are white, educated, and Christian. So yes, my perspective is limited through those lenses, and in my sharing, I absolutely do not intend to depreciate those with less forgiving circumstances.

But COVID-19 has sure turned this white girl on her head.

We never did see those 5 mornings of daycare. Instead, we went from 3 mornings to 0 mornings. TV-time? Oh yes sir please. In fact, we even paid money so he could have more access to educational programming. I have since memorized the opening songs to Dinosaur Train, Paw Patrol, and of course Blue’s Clues (though this was just a refresher course because I was a big fan of Blue in my day). I know you noted my nod to “educational programming.” But here’s where I’m about to get REAL real: I’ve also become acquainted with Gator Boys, a non-cartoon show about bandana-wearing, barefoot Floridians wrestling alligators with their bare hands. It’s Anders’ favorite. I kind of like it too. (Don’t ask me how or why we even started watching it in the first place. At least I didn’t expose him to Tiger King, okay?)

Guys, I’ve learned a LOT about myself in the last six weeks. I’ve learned that in dire circumstances, I will not only do things I never said I’d do, but I’ll hardly give it a second thought. With my usual options of tot gym, the library, parks, and beaches closed, that’s a lottt of time now spent at the house. There’s only so much crafting you can do with a toddler who has the attention span of a goldfish. Gator Boys it is. I’ve also learned that I’m still a great mom. Some weeks we have kept the screen time to AAP limits of under an hour (or none at all!), and I’ve given him full days of outside time, Play Doh time, book time, and all-around Mom of the Year-type shiz. But other weeks, we’ve watched so much TV that I could physically see his brain cells turning to mush. Some families might go day-by-day or hour-by-hour when it comes to their successful vs. deadbeat COVID experience. Ours has tended to rotate by full weeks.

I know without a doubt that all of us have been on this strange teeter-totter of excellence and blobiness during quarantine. Our ability to manage our mental and physical wellbeing—like my “fool-proof” plan for daycare—has been challenged in unpredictable ways, yet we’ve also been given the “gift” of time.

You’ve probably cleaned out your pantry or painted the bathroom, and you’ve also probably run out of things to watch on Netflix. We impressively potty-trained Anders, but also unintentionally introduced Jo to a bottle for the first time (using breastmilk stashed in the freezer for a rainy day) because I drank a wee bit too much whiskey while watching Crazy Stupid Love one night and [wisely] couldn’t nurse. (I don’t even drink whiskey. I mean, I don’t even really drink. Ryan Gosling does things to me.) I organized the broom closet, but our once-spotless living room is currently covered with dinosaur stickers that I can’t bring myself to peel off every surface. I’ve participated in a million Zoom hang outs, but also resent the fact that I have no good excuse to bail anymore when it comes to social engagements. The introvert in me is simultaneously thriving and overwhelmed.

Why am I writing all of this? I’m not sure. Maybe as a reminder of the unpredictability of life, serving as a post we can all read in a few years and say “remember when..?” Maybe because I want you to know that we’re all on the same teeter-totter. It’s okay. Maybe because I’m proud of myself for pushing through the last six weeks at home, when before they began, the thought of surviving even part-time life at home felt next-to-impossible. Public pat on the back.

It does feel important to say this, though:

COVID-19 has been all of these things: Devastating, a gift, terrifying, faith-building, exhausting, boring, communal, isolating, painful, beautiful, unifying, disruptive, healthy, and damaging. It is—like all supreme challenges in life—entirely contradictory in its fruits, but leave us with more fruits to choose from when we harvest the takeaway. The most notable element is that all of us are experiencing this same challenge together, at the same time. Different experiences within the challenge—yes. But the tree is the same and so is the fruit, even while our branches differ. That’s a bit scary, sure, but also oddly comforting.

Ultimately, I hope you’re doing okay. I hope you pick the right fruit when this is all over. And I hope your sourdough starter is thriving.