I’m on the brink of a nervous breakdown. As I write this, Santi Is jumping around from room to room, Joaquin is crying because we won’t let him vacuum the house with our brand new vacuum (the fake Dyson one my parents bought apparently is a piece of crap in his book) and Antonio hasn’t eaten a full meal since 5:00 PM yesterday. As I hide from my three children and leave them to my husband (the exhausted father who presented symptoms of Covid due to his own stress), I can’t help but laugh at the utter joke that is my life at this very moment.
March 12th 2020 was the day I decided to pull Santi out of school. I figured I’d send him back after spring break when this whole “Corona thing died down.” March 13th, as I’m getting ready for a birthday party, I get a call…
“Hey, don’t come. Someone at my husbands office just tested positive.”
And just like that, my life was never the same. Six weeks later I gave birth to my third son, after not having left my house in that amount of time. Six weeks after his arrival, I started casually going to the supermarket and have been out to dinner exactly three times. Every time I leave my house I leave with anxiety, and I come back feeling like I could take on the world. Why? Because I have a false sense that everything is back to normal.
I put Santi in a small summer camp at my friends house with 5 other children who had also been quarantining. Santiago and I were moving into our new house–everything was feeling back to normal. On a Friday our ADT guy came to install our alarm. I spent the entire day cleaning my house, getting furniture delivered and finally moved in on Saturday. Sunday we spent Father’s Day with my entire family celebrating and being happy–finally happy.
Tuesday, we got a call from. ADT that our alarm guy just tested positive for Covid-19. And just like that, I thought I was going to die. My anxiety was through the roof and we all went rushing to get tested (yes, at 9:30 PM!). Thankfully, three days later we found out we were all negative. What a relief, right?
On Sunday, June 28th, Santiago’s exhaustion began. He insisted he was just very tired but I got food poisoning at night so he was stuck with Antonio’s 5 AM feeding. (I’m going to refrain from referring to it as his middle of the night feeding because my mother has mentioned more than once that it’s “early morning not middle of the night, Adriana!”) Monday he came home from work and had a low fever. My first thought?
“Holy crap, Santiago has the virus.”
Naturally, I shipped him off to the ER for a test and again, three long and agonizing days later his results came back negative. But still, he has headaches, is exhausted and I’ve spent the better part of my days googling false negative results and I’m actually convinced he has it. So now, I won’t sleep until he’s 100% perfect. I can deal with a lot of things but not with illness–especially not illnesses for Santiago (I think we’ve been through enough).
So now as he’s slowly starting to feel better, Antonio has decided he’s not going to eat. YEAH! Me, who complains of my child not sleeping the night finally slept 13 hours yesterday. Hooray, right? WRONG. He ate at 5:00 PM and refused a bottle at 8:00 PM, 9:32 PM and 5:45 AM. I’m once again on the brink of a nervous breakdown as I calmly get him to guzzle down 4 oz in 2 hours. This kid usually eats 6 oz every 3 hours and everyone I’ve spoken to is telling me this is normal. But my mom gut tells me it’s not, but my mom says it is and I trust her, but I’m scared, and well–you get how this is going.
I’m halfway between wanting to get all of my kids in my bed and stay there until everything is better and wanting to ship the three of them off to my moms so I can get time to relax and not think about them or anything wrong. But guess what, I’m their mom and can’t really do that. Because even if I do ship them off, I’ll still think about them.
So yeah, I guess this is motherhood guys. Welcome to hell.