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As I sit in the school pickup line, my thoughts begin to swirl. This fleeting moment of calm is rare; my baby is peacefully gazing out the window, and my toddler is absorbed in a screen. In this brief solitude, I reflect on the overwhelming changes we’ve all faced. Years ago, this time was my cherished afternoon reprieve before the evening frenzy, but now, peace feels elusive. Watching the throng of masked children and teachers emerge from school, I can’t help but feel a rising tide of worry.
My concerns start with my baby’s separation anxiety. Conceived before the world shut down and born during the first pandemic holiday season, she’s more familiar with the mailman than many family members. She hasn’t stepped foot in a bustling restaurant, an airport, or a museum. Her outings are limited to quick grocery store trips or hiding away at her brother’s basketball games, always kept “far enough away” from others. She’s missed out on seeing most faces, unable to experience the warmth of genuine smiles that make babies feel secure. It feels as though she’s a little secret known only to a handful outside our home, and I worry she’s missing out on important connections and love.
Then there’s my four-year-old, who struggles with speech delays. While masks have their purpose, they complicate teaching articulation. With little effective speech modeling available in public, her main source of language comes from home, consisting of fragmented phrases and snippets of her older brother’s YouTube shows — including some rather inappropriate quotes she innocently repeats. Although it’s amusing that the neighborhood kids can’t quite grasp her asking if they’re “hungry for some man meat,” I fret about her growing frustration, wondering if things might be different had our world remained unchanged.
My six-year-old, too, faces challenges reintegrating into society. Much like myself, he’s become too comfortable nestled under blankets, avoiding social interactions and the discomforts of everyday life. Getting him to basketball practice has become a feat of bribery; after two years of replacing trampoline parks with Minecraft marathons, he often huffs around the court as if out of shape. With so many disruptions, he struggles to transition between activities, forgetting that the outside world can be enjoyable.
And then there’s my eight-year-old’s social dilemmas. I’ve turned down countless requests from my extroverted third grader for playdates and gatherings, leaving him feeling frustrated and confused. We even bought him an iPod touch to connect with friends online, which amusingly escalated to video tours of our house while I tried to manage my weekend routine. He craves peer connection and independence, and when he exclaims, “This sucks!” I remind myself that he’s right and he needs more.
Lastly, I worry about the toll this pandemic is taking on parents. If anyone claims they aren’t feeling at least a touch of depression, I genuinely wonder about their empathy. I’m irritable, exhausted, and struggling to meet my own needs, which means I’m not providing my kids with everything they deserve. They must sense my stress, and I’m concerned about how growing up during such uncertain times will shape their futures.
So when I express my worries about my children, I hope you hear me. While it’s true that kids are resilient, it’s essential to acknowledge that the mental health sector is thriving due to the traumas and disruptions experienced in childhood.
Instead of telling me my kids will be fine, offer validation. Recognize that parenting during a pandemic is incredibly challenging. Let me know you’re here if I need to vent, cry, or even scream. Offer to take one of my kids to the playground or ask how you might assist. Although research suggests my children will survive this pandemic, we cannot yet know the full impact on their well-being, and I’m deeply concerned for them.
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