For over two months now, my family of four—myself, my partner, and our two young sons—has been confined to our home. Thankfully, both my partner and I have the ability to work remotely. Juggling work with the absence of daycare is no small feat, but we strive to share childcare responsibilities, allowing us to meet deadlines and participate in crucial conference calls.
We’ve opted for grocery deliveries and treat ourselves to Friday night pizza, alongside necessary items from online retailers. On sunny days, we enjoy playing outside, and when the weather isn’t favorable, we fill our time with games, reading, simple crafts, and couch-cushion forts. I’ll admit, we spend more time in front of screens than I’d like to acknowledge.
Overall, I’ve managed to cope during this time—neither great nor terrible, just okay. There have been moments of tears, often spurred by heartfelt commercials celebrating essential workers or the local firetruck parades that pass by as they head to a child’s socially distanced birthday party. We miss our friends and family, the events that have been canceled, and all the routines that used to define our lives. Yet, we’re fortunate—healthy, with food and financial security.
But then, one sunny afternoon, the weight of COVID-19 hit me hard. My partner was preparing our boys for a walk around the block, putting on socks, shoes, sweatshirts, and masks. Watching him pull a mask over our bright-eyed three-year-old felt overwhelming. Tears welled up in my eyes as I whispered to my partner, “I need you to take them.” He hurried the boys outside while I succumbed to sobs—those deep, heavy sobs that had clearly been bottled up for far too long.
I despise the masks.
I cringe at the sight of people donning them as they stroll down the street. I dislike seeing half-covered faces in photos online. I struggle with the reality of my children wearing them.
I hate the masks because they evoke thoughts of hospitals and mortality. They bring to light the unsettling truth that my boys may have to return to daycare where their teachers are masked. The cute crocodile-print mask that sparked my tears was crafted by my cousin, a Broadway costume designer currently out of work.
Masks remind me of everything we’re missing out on—visiting loved ones, attending baseball games, playing at playgrounds, dining in restaurants. They serve as a stark reminder of the illness that could be lurking around the corner. The uncertainty of how long these circumstances will last weighs heavily on me, and I still find myself with more questions than answers.
Yet, I don’t want my boys to share my disdain for masks. I ushered them outside, not out of concern for them witnessing my tears—after all, we’ve had honest discussions about the virus and how grateful we are for those working to keep us safe while we stay home. I don’t want them to associate masks with negativity because they are crucial. They save lives.
While they may symbolize restrictions, they are also key to helping us regain our freedoms and inch back towards a new normal, one that may look different from what we once knew. So, despite my feelings, we will wear them. Luckily, to my three- and five-year-old sons, masks are still somewhat fun—for now.
For more reflections on navigating life during these unusual times, check out this insightful piece at Home Insemination Kit. You might also find valuable information on pregnancy and home insemination at Intracervical Insemination, and explore WHO’s resources on pregnancy to stay informed.
Summary
In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, a mother grapples with her feelings about masks, balancing her emotions as she navigates life with her family. While she personally struggles with the implications of masks, she recognizes their importance and aims to instill a positive mindset in her children.