Life, Unexpected

originally published August 28, 2020

I did not expect August to look like this.

Even in May—when the pandemic had stolen the entire fourth quarter of the school year, swallowing it graduation and all—I never expected August to look like this, to have us going on five months trapped in our houses and visiting with friends almost exclusively via screens, the oppressive summer heat having become another warden, barricading us in our homes day after day as the school year looms (for us both as teachers and as parents) full of uncertainty and anxiety.

I never expected to be worrying about whether my 5-year-old will be required to wear a mask to her first day of kindergarten—worried both that she will be and even more that she won’t be. Whether, if not I will ask her to wear one anyway, and if so, where to get the best masks for a kid with mild sensory issues. To be wondering whether her classmates will wear masks, since many will be just under the 6-year-old minimum for the county-wide mandate. Whether, if not, her exposure will mean we can no longer see her grandmother. Whether the dear friend caring for my other two children will be willing to take on that risk since she is homeschooling in part to avoid that risk.

I didn’t expect to be wondering how many masks to buy to make sure I’m stocked for the next months in the classroom. To be watching a fellow teacher and her family weather the storm of COVID-19, still suffering weeks after their positive test result, and now even after a negative test result. To be wondering what it will be like to teach without seeing half my students’ faces, for them to have the distraction and irritation of wearing a mask all day added to the myriad distractions and irritations endemic to being a high school senior and then to try to study Hamlet. To be wondering if all our planning will successfully prevent the spread of this coronavirus in our school or if we will end up moving to virtual instruction anyway after the first day, week, month.

I didn’t expect to only now be trying to pump enough milk for my baby to learn to take a bottle, since I haven’t had to leave her for more than 90 minutes since she was born. For her to be sleeping like a newborn again, up every 2-3 hours at night, and to be screaming in pain randomly throughout the day due to what I can only guess is the pressure of teeth pushing up through her pink gums. To be adding the stress of getting her ready to be fully cared for by another person to the already stressful back-to-school process. To be getting myself ready to be away from her, to be wading through those deep emotional waters when I’m already weighed down with the burden of navigating this pandemic.

There is just so much that I didn’t expect to be dealing with right now.

And yet.

Yet.

There is beauty—in the laugh of my sweet baby girl, the golden light of sunset streaming through the windowpane, the lavender and sea green succulent in my neighbor friend’s yard.

And, at least for a moment, that is enough.