Two years ago, I sat down and drafted this blog post. I couldn’t bring myself to publish it. Reading back on it now is like reading an old journal entry, and I wanted to share it with you. This was written when there was much uncertainty around covid and before I had 4 children. It feels incomplete, but I’m not in that space right now, and I think the words are important, even if the writing is unpolished.
December 2020 – A friend and I were recently talking about the impact COVID has had on our identities as mothers. Like me, she works full-time from home while her husband works outside of the house. Like me, she is raising three children of similar ages to mine. Like me, she has immunocompromised family members she is worried about.
She said to me, “I miss missing my kids.”
And that hit the nail on the head. That phrase was one I felt I had been searching for.
I remember when I was on maternity leave with Robert and later with the little guys. I remember feeling like I wanted to be home and be present for my children as we raised them. I wanted them to know that Mom could always come on their field trips or pick them up after school. That I was a safety net in that way, ever-present and forever cheering them on. When I had these thoughts, I never dreamed that the world would shut down and provide me with a twisted way to accomplish this.
Because raising kids and caring for a home is a full-time job.
Because working from home during the pandemic is my full-time job.
And doing both simultaneously doesn’t allow me to feel like I am a safe space for my kids. It doesn’t provide me with the opportunity to be present and engaging.
I miss missing my kids.