Two Sets of Little Hands Would Not Leave My Side for the Rest of the Year

I thought my husband was overreacting to the news. I was wrong.

I absolutely believed my husband was overreacting to the international reports he was getting from colleagues discussing COVID-19.

“We should probably stock up on essentials and shelf stable foods,” he said. “Pasta, rice, frozen foods,” he added. “And by the way, I’m ordering extra toilet paper from Staples.”

I choked back my laughter. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much,” I said. “I’m not buying into your fear-based mindset.” I WAS WRONG.

Friday, March 13th, lockdown in Los Angeles. I’m not sure I had ever combined the words “global” and “pandemic” before that day. Like much of the rest of the world, I really had no idea that life as I’d always known it was already unraveling.

The hand sanitizer ship had already sailed. I made my first pandemic pivot and simply mixed up on my own: aloe vera, lavender essential oil, rubbing alcohol, Vitamin E oil. I was grateful to have all of these ingredients under my bathroom sink. I was grateful for the two extra sets of little hands to help stir together what would become our daily disinfectant. Turns out, those little hands would not leave my side again for the rest of the year.

As proud as I am for birthing both sets of those little hands, I started to panic. If the outside world was shutting down, that meant it was going to become my responsibility to build a new world for them inside our home. I gasped for air. Suffocation started setting in. Would I ever escape?

My precocious preschooler no longer had a playground. My tantrumming toddler was tethered to my leg. Deep breaths. I chose to be a mother. I was certain of my love for them. Maybe I could handle this.

I had run a marathon before, one mile at a time, hydrating often. Perhaps this was the same thing? My shoulders relaxed. A giggle released as I realized — like it or not — I would not be missing any of their milestones in the foreseeable future.