For over two months, my family—my partner and our two young boys—have been confined to our home. We’re fortunate that both of us can work remotely, though juggling childcare with the daycare closed has proven to be quite the challenge. We do our best to share responsibilities, ensuring we meet deadlines while attending crucial conference calls. Our groceries and Friday night pizza arrive via delivery, along with necessities from Amazon. When the weather permits, we enjoy playing outside (thank goodness for sunny days). On rainy days, we resort to board games, reading, crafting, building couch forts, and, admittedly, spending more time on screens than I’d prefer.
Most of the time, I’ve managed to cope—not feeling great, but okay. I’ve shed a few tears here and there, especially during commercials that celebrate essential workers or when the firetruck parade from our small town passes by, brightening a child’s socially distanced birthday party. We miss our friends and family, the events that have been canceled, and all the “normal” activities we used to enjoy. Yet, all things considered, we are doing well—we have food, we’re financially secure, and we’re healthy.
However, one sunny afternoon, the weight of COVID-19 finally broke me. My partner was getting our boys ready for a walk around the block—socks, shoes, sweatshirts, and masks. Watching him pull a mask over our cheerful three-year-old’s face was more than I could bear. As tears welled in my eyes, my partner noticed my distress. I whispered, “I need you to take them,” and he quickly ushered the boys outside while I succumbed to heavy sobs that felt long overdue.
I dislike those masks.
I dislike seeing people on the street wearing them. I dislike the half-covered faces in social media photos. I dislike seeing my children in them. I dislike them because they remind me of hospitals and mortality. I struggle with accepting that my boys may return to daycare with teachers wearing masks. I even dislike the adorable crocodile-print mask made by my cousin, a Broadway costume designer currently out of work.
Masks represent everything we can’t do—visiting loved ones, attending baseball games, playing at parks, dining out. They remind us of the risk of illness. I hate them because the uncertainty of how long this situation will last leaves me with more questions than answers.
But I don’t want my boys to share my feelings. I rushed them out, not because I wanted to shield them from my tears—those have sparked meaningful conversations about the virus and our gratitude for those keeping us safe—but because I don’t want them to view masks negatively. They are vital and can save lives. While they symbolize our limitations, they are also a tool that could help us regain our freedom and inch toward a new normal, even if it looks different from what we once knew.
So, while I may dislike them, we will wear them. Luckily, to my three- and five-year-old, masks are still somewhat fun—for now.
For further insights on navigating motherhood, check out this post on home insemination, or learn more about essential resources for pregnancy at Mount Sinai. If you’re seeking more information on self insemination, visit Make A Mom for expert advice.
Summary
This article reflects on the emotional struggles of a mother during the COVID-19 pandemic, particularly focusing on her feelings regarding masks. While grappling with the challenges of working from home and parenting, she expresses her dislike for masks and the emotions they evoke, yet recognizes their importance in keeping her family safe.