There are dandelion seeds trapped in my bra. My 2-year-old has taken to eating them, rather than blowing them. And I can't seem to want to put him down as he does this. I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere.
Am I the only mother who is relishing this? That delights in slow quiet mornings making play-dough creations with my son as I sip on the coffee I had time to make myself instead of yet another dash through a Starbucks drive-thru? Sure, he decided to wake up at 4 am, but there was only home to be.
I would rather such a morning than the usual struggle to get to daycare when inevitably he poops as soon as I put him in the car seat, and I still had half a dozen stops before even making it into work.
I craved these timeless moments pre-coronavirus. Daydreamed about his smile and so ever eager to get home for his hugs and banshee toddler screams.
I love having an excuse and saying that I need to be home to care for my son. This is, at least somewhat, more acceptable because of limited childcare options. I'm allowed to say that and not feel inferior or be questioned about how much I value my career. As if caring about my work and caring about my child are required to be mutually exclusive.
I get that it's not the same for everyone. I don't have a school-age child and lesson plans to worry about. I do have some childcare help in the form of a trusted sitter, not much help, but enough. I have an employer who is receptive and supportive to our needs. I am so grateful.
And yes, of course, we need breaks. The couple of days I go into the office I've taken to keeping the car windows down whatever the weather just to breathe in air not saturated with toddler, cat or dog smells. I take ridiculously long toddler-free showers just for a few extra minutes. I do what I can with the options I have available. Then I regroup and go paint the window with my kid. Yes, the window. What are clean bodies for, but to get messy?
I love hearing about the moments we are flexing that muscle of compassion with one another about parenting demands. But they have felt few and far between. So I am going to be the one to say it. I LOVE THIS. I love being at home with my child. I love knowing the majority of my time is with him. That when he asks me, "Mommy sit down with me," I can do it and not care about the pile of dishes.
This will not be forever. Nothing is.