By: Revanche

Living in the time of pandemic: COVID-19 (141)

February 13, 2023

Year 3 of COVID in the Bay Area.

Year 3, Day 319: Oh, my aching head. I was up all night coughing and sneezing and intermittently gasping for breath when my nasal passages would suddenly close up. That was not fun.

I thought Smol Acrobat might be turning a corner on their cold-thing as well, they weren’t nearly so unpleasant/moody after their nap yesterday as they’d been all week, but they still woke up screaming at 1 am. At least it was just one time. Sigh.

This is Week Four of random viral something. The better news is that it’s Week 3 of the antidepressants and while I’m not yet 100%, it’s getting better. That very unstable fragile feeling is a little less pressing and present each day. I feel a little less like I’m standing on a raft in a stormy sea each day.

Year 3, Day 320: My brain worked at the speed of the original game of Pong today.
Bink. Bonk.
Bink. Bonk.
Bink.
PLONK.
By the time we had to leave for JB’s class, it was an empty echoing cavern.

I can’t tell if this is the depression, anxiety, or being sick for a month finally all being too much for me. Or just Tuesday. Could just be a Tuesday.

~~~~~

Smol Acrobat is an absolute pill at meals and tonight’s dinner was no different. They ate several bites voluntarily but then everything was screech! No! Demand! No! Demand! No!

They particularly dislike my insistence that they behave like a human with manners and say please along with whatever verb we’re fielding. They hold food hostage midmeal, holding it over the edge of their chair, asking yes? Yes?

NO.
Yes?
NO.
Yes? *grins, drops it*

They’re a tiny villain in the making.

Year 3, Day 321: Smol is keeping up their game of playing favorites and of course since PiC had an 8 am meeting, they chose him. That meant every single thing was a fight: wants milk. No, wants milk from Daddy.

Wants to get in the chair to eat. No, wants DADDY to help them into the high chair.
Wants milk. NO, milk from Mama is poison.
Wants more bagel. With cream cheese. No, don’t put away the peanut butter! Want cream cheese on bagel and want to see the peanut butter jar sitting on the counter. No reason.

Unreasonable terrorist! We fought every inch of our way through washing up, putting on socks and shoes, dropping off JB and coming back home.

They finally called a truce when I offered the opportunity to dump yard clippings into the compost. Thankfully, the hedge needed trimming badly anyway, so I clipped and they gathered. I can’t lift my arms now but at least we had peace for about 25 minutes.

~~~~~

Mental health today was a bit shaky. I couldn’t figure out why.

I had outdoor time with the unreasonable toddler in the morning. I had a good but short conversation with my cousin. I picked up JB and walked Sera and floated a plan to bake a random cake today if JB gets all their chores done. We have an extra Duncan Hines strawberry cake box mix from their birthday. I don’t actually like it much, myself, though everyone else does. I used to love the box mixes but this one tastes chemical-ly to me. What’s a good box mix we should try instead?

Catching up with a friend late at night it occurred to me that the tough morning with Smol left me feeling like I was on a back foot all day. I was probably as emotionally exhausted as I was physically.

Year 3, Day 322: We’ve been seeing a lot of new birds around the house lately. Usually it’s just blackbirds and a bluejay, but I spotted a few robins last week and two blue headed, rusty red breasted small birds yesterday. I might have to try and look them up.

~~~~~

Mental health today is … still opaque. It was a nice day outside. I appreciated the warmth of the sun, and cool breeze. But it just underlined the feeling that I can’t remember how to feel joy or happiness without the burden of whatever it is I’m feeling now. Heaviness. Bit of numbness.

This NYTimes opinion (gift link) article on supporting a friend with depression and suicidal ideation may be the closest to accurately describing the experience (and what one needs when dealing with depression) that I’ve seen in a long while: How Do You Serve a Friend in Despair?

It’s only later that I read that when you give a depressed person advice on how to get better, there’s a good chance all you are doing is telling the person that you just don’t get it.

I tried to remind Pete of all the wonderful blessings he enjoyed, what psychologists call “positive reframing.” I’ve since read that this might make sufferers feel even worse about themselves for not being able to enjoy all the things that are palpably enjoyable.

I learned, very gradually, that a friend’s job in these circumstances is not to cheer the person up. It’s to acknowledge the reality of the situation; it’s to hear, respect and love the person; it’s to show that you haven’t given up on him or her, that you haven’t walked away.

Year 3, Day 323: Our first Friday with childcare! It felt a bit strange. Not that we have had any actual routines on Fridays, it’s frequently a catch as catch can sort of merry go round with PiC and I taking turns hopping on childcare and school pickup and trading work time. We are just testing the full time waters without commitment right now and seeing what issues it raises for us. Right off the bat, I know PiC is nervous about the huge jump in cost. I was too, but I’ve been processing that for months. The other big thing is the dropoff and pickup grind. The daycare facilities are quite nice so we know they’re getting lots of chances to explore new things we can’t offer at home. BUT that means that it’s challenging getting them in and out of the classroom because they want to dawdle and explore and poke around and climb this thing and play with that giant connect four thing and wait! There is sports equipment right here to grab hold of and and and. It’s a solid 45 minutes at the top and bottom of each day.

That’s not including the 30-60 minutes of fighting with Smol to get them to get dressed, eat, wash up, put on socks and shoes, and a jacket and to go. You’d figure it was a 25 minute routine, right? Yes, if they cooperate. They have never cooperated. It’s constant redirection and herding them and working through one meltdown after another. We’ve never had a morning free of crying floor angel or rolling log full of scream. Not once. Toddlers. They’re hell on the nerves.

Still, at the end of this day, physically, I didn’t feel like a steamrollered pile of muck. It’s a weird distinction to make to folks with reasonable health, I’m imagining. I’m tired, yes. Very worn out, definitely. But I don’t feel that imperative to crawl into a dark hole and pull it in after me like most Fridays before this. This seems to be an improvement. Is it because of the meds or because of the childcare? Maybe both.

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