Home, Work, Office, Day-care, Fort, Refuge, Restaurant, Park, Prison, Camp, the great Outdoors
After being in Germany for a while, Western European parenthood seemed quite well thought out. The mother could be with her child up to a year and the father was allowed to take 3 months off as per his liking, within the first few years of the baby being born. In fact, if the mother decided to go back to work in 6 months it was at best considered sportlich.
All in all, if the offspring went awry and emotionally perturbed, the lack of parent bonding time in its infant years certainly could not be the main reason. However, in the United States, my wife and I faced the opposite end of the spectrum. In a country where babies are expected to drive themselves to day-care in three months, we as a couple struggled with guilt of being ‘those’ parents who considered our jobs more important than our babies well being. We managed to bridge the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas with our vacation days and were able to not start day care until almost 6 months after the baby was born. My parents braved the Michigan winter and were dutiful grandparents. It was our compromise between the Scandinavian and out-west pioneer parenting.
Day care began and quickly routine set in. I dropped him off and walked to my car without looking back. She picked him up not leaving him out of sight. We both put him to sleep. Sure, we only slept a few precious hours , but there was a time and place for work, baby and twiddling on the internet.
Until of course 2020 took an unpredictable turn. A novel virus (COVID-19) took over the world like wild fire, threatening a range of pain from chest pains to taking lives away. It spread through air, surfaces and contact. Humans were it silent carriers. Humans were it targeted victims. Come March, it became evident that Michigan was about to come to halt.
It has now been almost ten weeks since we have retreated indoors. And for the faux wanderer in me, it has been strange uncharted territory. Walls seem confining, our home appears to be shrinking every day. Meetings are punctuated by the baby’s needs. Simultaneous meetings between my other baby and me are dispersed in the various corners of our rooms. Our meals are repetitive, so are our groceries. Sanity is sustained with a lot of counter clockwise walking in the neighborhood. The 911 makes its occasional runs when the weather stays dry. We did take out once and even that seems over the top now. Going out seems like risk that just not worth it. And yet, the risk of me not leaving home doesn’t seem trivial either. I am not going mad. I am just not going. Like an apocalypse aftermath but not very dramatic at all.
There is a silver lining. We are able to watch our baby’s metamorphism from a tiny baby to a littler baby. Tummy time turned to rolling time. Rolling time is turning into crawling time. Milk time is turning into ‘let’s – try – this – new – solid – food’ time. Social smiles are turning into loud giggles. Naps are getting longer. Bedtime is lasting longer. We are sleeping more!
And it is hard to complain, when around you, many people are losing lives, jobs and or livelihood. We stay hunkered at home, gratefully imprisoned in the safety of our cozy tiny home, with its internet bandwidth stretched thin. But so far healthy, well fed and thoroughly bored. Turns out, that after being inspired and heart broken, being bored is the third major reason that urges me to write.
That is my discovery this quarantine.
