by Marea Goodman

Yesterday, my two-and-a-half-year-old, Feliciano, dumped his bowl of quinoa on the kitchen floor that hasn’t been mopped in two weeks, got down on his hands and knees, and lapped it up without his hands pretending to be a dog. I didn’t stop him. I was far too relieved that he was finally engaged in an activity that allowed me to eat in peace. Ten minutes later, my ten-year-old, Amada, threw herself down crying because we ran out of glue and she couldn’t complete her Zoom-based art class.

After eight weeks of sheltering in place with no social distancing from my family, I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything not absolutely essential. Why clean the kitchen when it would just get messy again in two hours? Why fold the laundry when we could just wear wrinkled clothes? When was the last time I showered?

I regularly feel pulled in too many directions. How can I be a mother, housekeeper, partner, and midwife all at once? The kids have an uncanny way of requiring attention at the exact moment I sit down to speak with a client or get some long overdue paperwork done. During these past two months, I’ve cleaned the kitchen at least three million times, cried from overwhelm at least ten, and regularly felt obscene gratitude toward our television (formerly a rare treat) for bringing Elmo into our home to pinch-hit for childcare.

I’ve also felt immense love watching my beautiful son run through the forest barefoot with abandon on a rare excursion into nature. I’ve taken extra pleasure holding his small, growing body in my arms while he sleeps, appreciating the peacefulness of the moment and the relative safety we are privileged to experience.

I’ve listened in awe to my daughter read a poem she wrote for school about washing her hands, and loved teaching her how to bake bread. I’ve deepened my relationship with my partner as we wake up every morning still liking each other after our long confinement. We’ve discovered new wells of resilience and learned that we make a superb team in challenging situations.

Raising two children during a global pandemic is overwhelming, yet in many ways, having a family makes this time of great uncertainty easier. It is grounding to take care of my children’s daily needs, to make a meditation practice out of preparing their quesadillas. While these weeks have brought up huge waves of irritation and exhaustion, if I weren’t parenting, it would be easier for me to wallow in fear and despair. My kids force me to stay positive, and my family provides regular doses of treasured connection and intimacy, which I wouldn’t trade, not even for desperately needed alone time.

The day before shelter-in-place orders took effect in California, I was overcome with anxiety, unable to slow down. I spent the day checking and rechecking our pantry, counting rolls of toilet paper, making sure we had enough food to last for at least two weeks. Then, a client texted me. After a day of mild, irregular contractions, her labor was getting strong.

The instant I walked through her door, I knew she was close to delivering. She was gripping her husband’s shoulders, beads of sweat on her forehead. With the surge of her next contraction, her voice caught in a low, guttural moan.

“I feel her, she’s coming.”

I barely had time to put on my gloves before her daughter’s head emerged. With the next push, she slipped into my hands. I put the brand-new baby into her mother’s arms, and watched the parents receive their precious infant, welcoming her to the world.

My client and her daughter pulled me out of fear that day. They reminded me that even during a pandemic—in the face of everything we have ever known shifting under our feet—birth still happens. Life continues. The fact that humans can grow other humans in our bodies, then birth them and love them more than life itself, is equal parts ordinary and extraordinary.

As my grandfather Mendek wisely said: now is a good time to be grateful. Even when everything we know is changing due to Covid-19, there are boundless beautiful moments. Babies are being born, the trees are in full bloom, and I have my family to cuddle with every morning and evening. Life still offers us plentiful gifts; I am appreciating them all amidst the chaos.

Mothering in a Pandemic