An exercise in mothering: COVID Edition
It has now been ten months. Ten months of holding and stretching my breath. Of packing up the guilt and shoving it to high heaven because I literally don’t have the time. After ten months, I am starting to understand how to prepare myself. How to unpack the hollowness I feel after they go. To learn and interpret which stings more, leaving them or watching them leave me.
The dryer hums with the last load of laundry, the reptile gets a final spritz, the singing lesson wraps up. My eye wanders to the empty pitcher on the counter holding the iced tea that never got made, the perfectly ripe mango which was never consumed, the muffins that remain unbaked. I hear my daughters voice and lean in to my son’s long hair still on my shoulder.
The cat sniffs around the well-traveled bags collecting by the front door. It didn't take her ten months to adjust. In their absence, she adamantly rotates beds and becomes inconsolable if she doesn’t have access to their rooms while they are at their fathers house. Sometimes I see her nestled right where their heads were just days before. Sometimes I curl up in their pillows, too.
After ten months, I know that tomorrow I won’t enjoy the morning as much and the late autumn evening will feel even darker and lonelier. After ten months I know that in a few days I will be puttering and likely muttering to the cat or anyone else who will listen about how much I love her, how much I love them, how much love my heart feels in general. After ten months, I know that by this time next week I will be ensconced in my solo life and begin the preparation to wholeheartedly and gratefully surrender it again. Oh, what there is to say about this exercise in mothering that is holding and stretching and loving. Leaving and letting go.
Ten months ago I was a full-time parent and had been for fourteen years. I wasn't expecting to let that go, yet. As it happened, the pandemic gave our family an opportunity, which fortunately for my children has resulted in some long-overdue time with their father. And while I miss my children fiercely when they are gone, I know many moms who say I am blessed to have this precious time to myself, and I am learning to embrace and revel in that part of my journey, too.
Here’s to “new” normals and finding joy in the present moment, whether your pandemic pod feels like it is bursting at the seams or echoing with extra room. And love to all the mamas and papas out there making it work! ❤️