The Fresh Hell that Is Motherhood with Covid

Over the past year, each time I’ve read an article about someone’s experience with the coronavirus and they say something like “I slept for 22 hours” or “I didn’t get out of bed for a week,” my first thought was, “Clearly, this person does not have young children.”

Because I have young children, and their capacity to let me rest in any meaningful way is non-existent.

I am currently seven days into having the virus myself. When I got the call, my doctor reiterated what she had said during the exam in her office the day before. She made note of my sore throat, pounding headache, full-body aches, congestion, and slight cough and told me to drink plenty of fluid, take Tylenol as needed, and rest, rest, rest. I reminded her that I had a 5-year-old and a (teething) 13-month-old to which she smiled a sympathetic smile but had no solution for the predicament I found myself in — I am ill and need to take care of myself. Also, my kids need me 24/7.

At this point, you’re probably wondering why my husband/partner can’t just step up and let me warm the proverbial parenting bench for a few days. My answer is simple: he’s much sicker than I am. On any given day, when we’re not both battling a heinous and highly contagious virus that has stopped the entire world dead in its tracks, we have a fair and equitable household. My husband washes bottles and changes diapers and picks up tiny socks off the floor and helps with homework and makes grilled cheese sandwiches and plays peek-a-boo and is really just an all-around stellar dad. But today, he looked at me with tired eyes and whispered, “Even my hair hurts.”

So here I am, living out the nightmare I have feared since Tom Hanks’ famous tweet about the mystery virus spreading like wildfire. I have Covid and I have kids and I have no help. And if I’m being brutally honest, it‘s been just as miserable as it sounds.

I can’t begin to describe the level of exhaustion, but I am finding that having to deal with Covid over the past year in the larger sense has helped to prepare me with having Covid in the literal sense. If 2020 did anything for me, it showed me a strength I never knew I had. I’ve weathered virtual Kindergarten while juggling a full-time job. I’ve waited anxiously while both of my parents were hospitalized with complications from this awful virus. Our family has moved three times as we’ve waited for our new home to be built. And I’ve endlessly battled through a million other micro-stressors that have added up to one thing: RESILIENCE.

We’ve all lived our own personal version of pandemic hell this past year, and I fully recognize that I reside in the category of “life sucks right now, but I’m more privileged than most.”

Privileged and lucky. When this devil virus hit, my in-laws picked up all our groceries and dropped them at our doorstep, my mom made her famous chicken soup (what I wouldn’t do to get the ability to taste back) the minute I told her I didn’t feel well, and our close friends Door Dashed a pizza to us so I didn’t have to worry about cooking…or even microwaving.

So, how exactly will I survive the rest of this quarantine with needy children and an ailing husband while I regain my strength and sanity? First, I’ll continue to accept any and all help offered to me. My brother texted this morning, asking if we needed anything. My instinct was to say, “Nah, we’ve got this” but I fought it and gave an honest response: “We need paper plates because dishes aren’t happening. And I could really go for an iced coffee.” Thirty minutes later, my wishes were granted. Ask and you shall receive and all that.

I also went ahead and tossed out the arbitrary rule book we parents feel we must follow. This place has been the wild, wild West for a week now. Today, my son is on his third hour of Mario Kart. The baby refused to eat her turkey meatball and puréed veggie lunch, so I handed her a chocolate chip cookie and locked myself in the bathroom for ten minutes. My house is really, really not clean. Neither is my hair. There are piles of unfolded laundry everywhere. The sink is full. So is the garbage.

But…we’re surviving. We’re okay. We’re doing this.

I. Am. Doing. This.

I’m a mom. A mom who has survived twelve months of this Covid chaos. This virus has no idea who it’s messing with.

Kaysie, Woman of a Certain Grace