Mother’s Day has me feeling… well… different this year.
It’s not the feeling of fresh flowers or a sunny family brunch.
I’m not sure if I should be seeing my mom yet (because, coronavirus). So I won’t be able to give her a hug or see her smile in person. And I’ve spent so much with my children, during the stay-at-home order, that motherhood at the moment has an unfamiliar flavor.
For the first five weeks, everything was truly fine. Homeschooling was going well, and the gorgeous days were actually really, really good. Lovely, even. I wasn’t exactly sure what my friends, who weren’t immediately impacted or risking their lives on the front lines, were lamenting.
Then I hit a wall. It was the week that my daughters’ summer camps were cancelled. The local summer festival (that was going to include a special needs day, two years in the making) was canceled. It was announced that certain parks, like a local swimming spot, wouldn’t open. And I got the notification that my daughter’s summer school was going virtual.
These developments made me realize that not only was social distancing not going anywhere, but summer would not be the same. At all.
About this time, it also dawned on me that I’d never gone this long without some kind of help with my eldest, who has Wolf-Hirschhorn Syndrome. Without a visit from my parents or my husband’s parents. Without a babysitter or mother’s helper. Without school or church childcare or Buddy Break. Without a date night or a morning alone at a coffee shop. Without any break of any kind.
Meanwhile, my back and neck were really hurting from lifting my daughter (who is 50 pounds). All day, every day. And my husband’s recent bike accident (don’t worry, he’s ok now!) meant that weekends were the same as weekdays. Not a lot of help with the physical demands there for a while.
Over the course of all of this, my momming was going downhill. Like, down. From exhaustion, but also from not getting to do what I want to do. I need to write, and let’s just say my computer has been… occupied.
Flipgrid, GoTo Meeting, Google Classroom, Microsoft Outlook, HelpKidzLearn, BookFlix, Happy Numbers, Mystery Doug, ABCYa, plus Gmail, to check all the messages that all three of them are getting, from multiple people, all day long. Please don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for these platforms. I just miss my laptop. And at night I’m too tired to touch it, a resentment that’s grown dark roots, like my unhighlighted hair.
Now there’s a millimeter of separation between I’m-fine and completely melted. And I know the rest of my family is feeling it. The other night, as I was tucking in my middle, in desperate need of validation, I whispered to her…
“Am I a mean mommy?”
I held my breath waiting for her answer.
“Oh, no mommy!” she said with impassioned objection. “No, you aren’t!”
I exhaled, and we locked our hug in a little tighter. I felt silly that I needed to hear this from her, but I did. My mom report card, through self evaluation, was about a D+. The house. The groceries. The cooking. The teaching. The therapy. The position changes. The house. The groceries. The cooking. The teaching. The therapy. The position changes. These are the things I know I’m doing. I’m checking these boxes. All I’m doing is checking these boxes.
But the hugs. The kind words. The encouragement. The kisses. The laughter. The tender moments. These have been few and far between. These hallmarks of motherly love have been hard to deliver, while delivering all the rest. Not being able to give love, as I’m used to doing, has made me feel like someone else. I miss the mom I was before all of this.
Then I hear them playing “mom” in the basement…
“Oh, sweetie. Let me help you with that.”
“Ok, sweetie. But first you need to fix this.”
“That’s OK, sweetie.”
The moms they are pretending to be don’t remind me of the mom I am right now. But they are a reflection of a mom they know well. Maybe I’m still her, even though I can’t see her or hear her or feel her.
I’ve always hated the term self care. The idea of self love. I don’t like to be told how to take care of myself. You all know I’m proud like that. But one day, I threw myself in bed and finally grieved the loss of the life I’ve been living for so many years.
Then, quietly, I started talking to my friends about it.
I needed ideas. I needed to find ways to cope. I don’t like asking for help. But this helped.
So much.
I haven’t wanted to go for a jog - something I previously enjoyed. Or go for a walk. But one of my friends suggested I go for a bike ride. I kinda forgot this was something I could do by myself. Usually, biking is an all-family affair that involves pulling 70 pounds (Burley cart + oldest child) behind me.
I went for a ride, which Dan pretty much forced me to go on, truthfully. But I did it. And it felt like flying. I wanted to share with my friend that I followed her advice, so I had my middle take this pic…
