A Long December
Written December 2022
It’s been a rough, monotonous stretch.
Covid finally got us. After two years and nine months of obsessive vigilance, it either seeped through our masks or infected us outdoors and as much as we tried to isolate from each other at home, the four of us fell like dominoes.
Seemingly everyone else had stopped caring ages ago — returned to their lives, decided it was okay to let this novel virus permeate their lungs, vascular system, organs…
But not us. All I read had me skeptical of laying out the welcome mat for covid-19, so we tried tried tried to protect our little fam. And gawd, we gave up so much. Our lives such a small sliver of what they would have, should have been…
We knew it was inevitable, though. The culture shifted long ago. Everyone wanted covid to be over, and so it was. A wink and a nod between our governments, the media, (some) health officials, and the rank and file. It was much better to call covid just another cold or flu and let it circulate as such. Much easier to give up. And oh, how much more fun.
So despite our efforts — which we know made everyone think we were insane — covid finally got us.
The physical sickness was awful. Fevers and chills. Headaches and coughs. Two sick and exhausted parents trying to care for two sick and exhausted kids with absolutely no relief from anywhere or anyone.
But for me, the mental part was just as bad. A sweaty, shivering body curled up in bed devastated. 33 months of saying “no” to everything I love — restaurants, travel, galleries, museums, concerts, sporting events, friends, family, freedom. Of rewiring my brain to be happy with only the outdoors, content with my husband and two boys, grateful for what I had — including the ability to choose. And now, for what?
I suppose to be able to say “Mama tried, mama tried…” When the long term effect of this thing comes to fruition — and sorry to be a downer, but I believe it will (and in some ways already is, just look at how sick everyone is) — at least I’ll know I tried.
So we were stuck at home for weeks, the big kid home from preschool, my husband and I going berserk. Every day on repeat. A sick, boring, relentless repeat.
Wake up too early. Struggle to get out of bed. Plan meals, make meals, eat meals, wipe meals off faces and floors. Play something. Juggle nap times. It’s all a blur.
This one’s crying, that one’s crying, just take the freaking iPad, wait we still have to work?
Order groceries. Buy vitamins, buy medicine, buy immunity shots and gawd when will my lungs be healed enough to smoke a joint?
What’s for dinner? I don’t fucking know. Bath time, bed time, why does this feel like four hours?
They’re sleeping. Can I? But if I do… where is my life? Where am I in all this? I do some internet things I need to do. I go to sleep. My last wish is that the baby will please, gawd, just start sleeping through the night already.
But of course he’s up just an hour later, and again a couple after that. I’m so tired. I get out of bed. I nurse him back to sleep. I collapse back into bed. Then get woken up too early, struggle to get out of bed, plan meals, make meals… and so it goes.
And yes, of course, there are beautiful moments amidst all this. A kiss from my husband when we meet at the sink, him doing dishes and me stealing the water stream to wet a rag for tiny, filthy hands.
A long hug from the toddler, his delicious voice asking “Can we stay like this forever?”
“I wish,” I answer.
“Don’t ever let go,” he says, head on my shoulder.
“Oh my honey, do you know this is my favorite place?
“You’re a beautiful lady,” he concludes, and my smile can’t quite believe this child is mine.
And my baby, my little one… how to even explain the delight. He’s so secretly charming that I can’t.
But whatever, I’m complaining. It’s been a loooong December of canceled hanukkah parties, stolen holiday spirit, and the inside of this house.
And now I’m listening to the Counting Crows for the first time in 20 years and I gotta say, it was better back then.
But maybe, maybe… this year will be better than the last.
And it’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell my myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
And it’s one more day up in the canyons
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
If you think you might come to California I think you should
-Counting Crows
Wishing you, your loved ones, and this whole darn world a new year where we come together, grow, and leave things better than we find them on Jan 1.
Happy, happy new year, and hey — thanks for continuing to read this thing. It really does mean so much.
❤︎ Leora
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