Diary of a Pandemic Mom

Omicron got anyone else feeling like its May 2020? I say May because March/April were just disorienting but it was novel and there was still the hope that this was all going to be temporary. In March/April you could still joke about Zoom happy hours and there was room for naivete.

Our daycare is across the street from a county testing center so I’ve seen the throngs of people in the last weeks. And like everyone else, I can list the dozen or so people who I personally know who have tested positive. Yes. No. Worry. Relief.

The holidays were such a gift for my family. No schedules. No alarms. One morning as I was rolling my shoulders back, waiting for my coffee to brew, I had a revelation. This is what it feels like to have one’s muscles unclench. Cool.

The holiday exhalation is perhaps why the new year feels like a hard slam against a wall. It’s not even the personal fear of COVID at this point, I have been vaccinated and boosted (thank you Moderna) although the fear for my unvaccinated children is always present. I also worry about the war zone that is our hospital system right now and all of our healthcare providers who have been in the trenches for the last two years.

Lately, I am more aware of my body’s sense of fight-or-flight. I am perpetually poised to hear the cough of one of the boys. A cold or something else? The next phone call may be from daycare or work letting me know that everything is shutting down. I exist in a reactive state.

Living in fear of constant disruption takes such a mental and spiritual toll. I cannot plan. I cannot schedule. And because of omicron, a few of my anticipated joys (weekend trip to visit a friend and traveling to celebrate my 40th birthday) have been revoked.

This time last year, the vaccines were on the horizon and Biden was about ready to be inaugurated. I felt more optimistic than not.

That’s why this surge seems like such a slap in the face.

Photo Courtesy of Luke Jones @lukejonesdesign

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