Imperfectly Perfect Weekends

Home office for Monday, complete with new desk caddy in the back!

You can feel 100% comfortable in your body and then wake up the next morning with a painful stye every time you blink. You can have a really nice Saturday at home together, and then end the day seeing an article on Facebook about the first U.S. infant to die from coronavirus. Now suddenly you don't want to go to bed. Don't want that to be the last thing on your mind. Don't want to let anxiety take over.

My customized photo Shutterfly desk caddy arrived at last this weekend...with a clear scratch on one of my son's photos. Is it terrible? No. Is it a first world problem? Absolutely, especially considering all the horrors of right now. But it's also a "perfect" metaphor to represent how nothing in life is perfect, especially the things we look forward to the most. I was excited for something as small as a desk caddy to brighten my work-from-home desk during these times. When I realized what I thought was dirt turned out to be a piece of the wood scratched off, I was disappointed. A tiny chunk of my son's picture etched in the caddy was taken away. But I shouldn't have built up the item so much in the first place. Just like the times I took my son to a much anticipated portrait photo shoot and he refused to smile. The more I look forward to something the more I get disappointed when it doesn't go as planned, probably because I'm putting so much pressure on it to be perfect.

That's the kind of thing you have to let go of during a global pandemic when nothing is perfect.

Because right now, anything that was anticipated in March or April--and maybe even May and June--probably won't be happening. I feel extremely sorry for anyone who had a graduation this year, or a wedding! That's not the kind of event that's easy to postpone, and it's certainly a moment that's looked forward to with great excitement. There are families cancelling big trips, children postponing milestone parties, and women giving birth without their partners by their side. These big events that can't happen certainly puts things in perspective when I think about something as little as my first official Mother's Day brunch on hold. But I do lament the changes we now have to make for my dad's and brother's birthdays in April. I do wonder when it will be safe to have a large gathering again for my son's first birthday as well. I'm comfortable celebrating his special day in a small way at home with my husband--I already know that's special enough. Small, intimate celebrations can often be the most meaningful, and I will do anything to keep my son safe. But I also know that I have a large and wonderful family who will want to celebrate his turning one year old, and I had so many great ideas for a big themed party that will now have to wait too.

We're all grieving right now, in different ways. And the "positive" negative stories I've seen on Facebook talk about how it's okay to grieve the things we're losing right now as part of the pandemic, whether they be big or small. Our events, or our paychecks, or our family time, or our freedom.

The good news, though, is that in all its imperfections, this weekend was actually pretty nice. Despite the eyelid pain of a stye (not contagious, not a symptom of the virus, but just plain annoying), I enjoyed the time with my husband and baby again. Rays of spring sunshine lit up the house even though I stayed indoors, and we accomplished the little and big items on our to-do lists.

My son took long naps in my lap, cuddled close. I also got him to laugh several times throughout the weekend. He smiled wide when we played "This Little Piggie" with his toes and when I showed photos of himself grinning back at him. He explored every nook and cranny of our downstairs rooms, and crawled from one end to the other at lightning speed.

My husband brought drive-thru food as a treat, and picked up the desk caddy package for me. So Baby was able to eat his lunch out of a baby Starbucks cup while I sipped out of a real one. Then while my husband watched Baby, I got a little cleaning done: Putting away papers and baby clothes. Fitting photos into frames to display on our little mantle. And taking the longest, hottest shower I'd had all week. The song "Human Again" from Disney's Beauty and the Beast 2002 special edition re-release played in my head. I did feel a little more human and refreshed afterward. Self-grooming is important, even if you have nowhere to go.

I miss going out with my husband, getting dressed up for a big event with skirts and lipstick and coordinating outfits with Baby. But with all the things to grieve right now, outings is not really one of them for me. Because in a world of uncertainty, this is one thing I can control: staying home. I haven't left my house in nine straight days and going strong. The few groceries we need are delivered, allowing my husband's brief outings to remain brief--but he does like getting out every once in a while to avoid cabin fever. He's moved his jogs from the gym to jogs around our block, getting some outdoor exercise when Baby sleeps.

Saturday evening, I binged an adorable kid's show, Diary of a Future President on Disney+. It reminded me of the kinds of stories I like to write, and I appreciated seeing more Hispanic characters on TV. If Baby starts to nap even more independently, I might start writing more of my middle grade stories again, carving out time while he sleeps too, like I'm doing right now to write this blog post in the evening since he's fallen asleep in his playpen for the night.

On Sunday, I woke up at 4am while Baby slept on until 5am--another all-night sleeping success even if I couldn't seem to spend that last hour asleep myself. When Baby woke, he still acted a little sleepy, so I carried him around the house, rocking him. As I anticipated, his head soon nestled into my shoulder. His eyes closed. He was out. And while I get to have a sleeping baby on my lap all the time (he often falls asleep after eating), there's something extra special to me about holding a baby to your chest after you've rocked him to sleep. Since I'm usually the "milk factory" source of food to calm my baby, I don't always get those cheek-to-cheek, smushy-faced moments. So this time I chose to keep holding him instead of placing him back down in his pen. I treasured the snuggle for another hour, until he woke up ready to face the world.

I still worry about "the after" of all this. About how imperfect life will be with a changed economy and continued fear of germs, and so many lives lost across the globe. I don't want to be too overly protective when raising my son, and I always try to nurture his adventurous spirit, but I know I'm going to be even more nervous going forward. I already went through one trauma with his emergency c-section birth. I heard his heart rate dropping in the hospital as his oxygen went down during fetal intolerance to labor. It’s no wonder I have a hard enough time letting go already, wanting to hold him and be with him as often as I can. After this pandemic is over, will I be able to stand letting him out into the world at all?

That's a question that's not too perfect either. But as I tell my son today, "I love your smushy face," and sing his "Sheepy" and "Ducky" songs, and follow after him on all fours in a baby parade, that question can wait for another day.