I may be selfish in saying this, and excuse me if I am, but COVID-19 ruined much more for me than just staying home with my three kids. I was basically already home 24 hours a day because I am a stay at home mom of three kids under two and a half years old and the logistics of going anywhere alone gives me sheer anxiety, so quarantine didn’t change much for me unfortunately. But it did change everything in one way. Let me back track a little to explain.
18 months ago
I became pregnant with the family’s first ever set of twins. It happened “naturally” -whatever that means (so many people ask that!!!) – and therefore it was the shock of our lives and anxiety creeped in immediately because I was only thirteen months postpartum! Yes, I was going to have a 19 months old and newborn TWINS! I could barely breathe. Literally. How was I going to take care of three babies with only two arms? Seemed impossible. I knew right then that I would be confined to the house for awhile, and again, I couldn’t breathe at the thought of it.
10 months ago
The twins were born at 36 weeks and 5 days and had no NICU time, which I was so very thankful for and so very proud of my body for. But the minute I brought them home, my 19 months old become this monster child I didn’t recognize. My mom came to help me for the first month after the twins were born. The anxiety kicked in quickly, as each day passed, knowing that at one point I was going to be doing this all alone. Everything was hard. My firstborn was so little it was impossible to make him understand that Mommy needs to feed the babies, that takes two arms, and unfortunately that means I have none left for you for a good 30 minutes. It was horrible. It was hard. It was emotionally draining and it broke my heart knowing I couldn’t be there for all three of them at once. Sometimes they’d cry all together and my heart broke because I had to chose one to console and hope for the best for the other two.
Like I said, it was torture. But what kept me sane (well as sane as you can be at that point), and what kept me going was the fact that May 9th, 2020 was in a couple of months and my mom would be back. We would all be leaving for Spain so I could spend time with her and the rest of my family. I counted those days. I counted when I missed my mom and didn’t know what to do. I counted when I screamed “why me” and then hated myself instantly for even daring to say this, when so many of my friends are experiencing fertility problems and wished they were me. I counted when they all were screaming and I crawled up in a ball crying, wishing my mom didn’t live eight thousand miles from me.
Today I’m crying because my countdown is almost done, yet reality has sunken in that we will not be going anywhere. That if we’re lucky, maybe in June we can, but otherwise I won’t be seeing my mother again this year. You see, like I’ve mentioned she lives in Spain, the third most affected country after us. Even if by then America decided to open back up and things went back to normal, Spain might not allow my mom to leave. If my mom cannot leave to come here, I am not able to go there because obviously 16 hrs alone in a plane with three kids under three is, let’s say, not pleasant. So here we are, and here I am, desperately grasping for any positive outcome that would allow me to see my family, whom I haven’t seen in two years.
I really wish people could hear my cry, and just listen when asked to stay home and do their part. Yes I may be selfish, but then again, maybe I’m not the only one.