We Don't Know

A few years ago, I went to visit some friends who had just had their first baby.  I did the things one typically does: took a meal and some baked goods, had a gift for the baby, waited to be offered a turn to hold the baby-- seriously, you all do this, right, especially with first-time moms?  You walk in, put everything away, pretend you totally don't see the mess, scrub your hands up to the elbows for at least 30 seconds as though you are actually headed into surgery, making sure the mom sees you and knows what you are doing, and then stand and wait.  You don't ask if you can hold the baby; you surely don't grab the baby; you smile gently, looking perfectly calm and capable and sane.  That's how you get to hold a new mother's new baby.

I also did some things maybe other people don't typically do when they visit the home of a new family.  I don't really know; I'm not other people.  I said I had some extra time and asked if the mom would like me to keep holding the baby while she took a nap-- of course, she said no, and looked like she was already missing the baby or like I might be doing it wrong, so I handed back the bundle.  I went to the kitchen and washed up the few dishes in the sink, dried them, and put them away in the cupboards.  I went to the laundry room and took the load out of the dryer, folded it, and did my best to make piles for each family member.  I snuck into the spare bedroom where the breast pump was set up, checked the connections and settings, made sure all the parts were in working order, checked the battery backup.  I went into the bathroom and left some necessary, but private, items-- tools for Mama's self-care-- on the counter.  I found Dad hiding in the bedroom and said, "Your job description just expanded.  Help her.  Get up with the baby-- not every time, just once in a while, to give her a break.  Tell her how beautiful she is.  Right now.  Let her cry, and don't ask why she's crying; just hold her hand and hand her tissues.  Pick up and throw away the tissues.  And, for the love of all that is good and holy, do not pressure her to be intimate with you.  Not this week, not this month, maybe not this year.  Be patient.  She will tell you when she is ready.  When she is, it will be different, but tell her it is wonderful.  Tell her how beautiful she is.  Thank her for the gift of your child."

Then, I cooed over the baby one more time and I left.  Later that day, my friend texted me, something to the effect of: "THANK YOU, HOW DID YOU KNOW?!"  Well, that's easy: I knew because I'd been there before-- four times.  I knew what she was feeling, how she was struggling, what she didn't want to say, how she couldn't ask for help.  I knew because it happened to me, too.

That's the thing about the current situation we are in-- the global coronavirus pandemic: We do not know how to take care of one another, what other people need, what we need... because we have never done this before.  It has never happened to any of us.  We have never been here.  I think that's a huge piece of the emotional and psychological puzzle.  We look to experts and we turn to our families and friends, but NO ONE KNOWS.  And, it's different for every person, of course.

I am not a therapist.  I'm, like, the only person I know who never even took one psychology class in college.  It probably shows.  Sorry.  I do not have any answers.  I share this story and my views as a way to remind us all: We do not know, but we must keep trying and finding things that work.

A week or so ago, we tried to have an early Easter celebration of sorts, social-distancing-style with my MIL and SIL.  We went over to their house, stayed outside, kept significant distance between each of us, and tried to connect.  It was very nice-- a beautiful day, sweet Easter gifts, my MIL as the proverbial host.  We stayed and chatted for several hours and then left.  Days later, one of the kids asked whether we were going to do that with my parents.  I said there were no plans to, and it would be really difficult since that side of the family was much larger.  (It ended up being a non-issue because it was snowy and awful over the Easter weekend and each of my siblings' families as well as my parents did brief, drive-by drop-offs where we just yelled at one another from the front porch.)  Anyway, that same child said to me, "You ruined the day at Grandma and Lisa's.  You were yelling at her like you were mad at her.  And all Dad did was talk about the virus."

I tried to explain that I wasn't "mad" at Grandma-- of course not-- I was just worried about her, really trying to follow the rules to keep her safe.  I said there was ultimately no way to control who contracts COVID-19, but that I felt strongly about doing my part-- our family doing our part-- to stop the spread and not be part of the infection if we could so help it.  And we can so help it.  It is absolutely no fun, and we miss everyone terribly, but we can do this, and we will, if, in any way, it offers some layer of protection for the people we love the most.

Naturally, the children are confused and scared, too.  Each has different coping mechanisms.  Sometimes, they have questions, but, other times, they just do not want to talk about it and do not want to hear about it.  That's understandable, too, isn't it?  There are so many of us... and we are all here... all the time... it is a lot to juggle!

This is an exhausting, draining, confusing, changing struggle.  I suspect we all feel the same.  We are in this together, and I pray that brings comfort, if not answers.  I don't know what to tell you... but I am here for you.