My husband stares across the dining room table, his mouth agape as he watches me shovel dinner in my mouth as my son rubs his face up and down my arm.
"How are you even eating right now?" he asks.
I look down as my son shifts back in his seat, his tiny hand gripping my shirt as if we're free falling off a cliff.
"What do you mean," I retort, as that same little hand moves to squeeze my arm, yanking me down toward him. My son lets go for a brief moment, only to climb into my lap as he absent-mindedly strokes the forearm holding him so he doesn't fall. "This is my normal."
"Buddy, let mama eat," my husband gently says, trying to coax him off me. He whimpers and clings to me a little tighter.
"It's fine," I promise him, shooting my son a small, reassuring smile.
Some days, truthfully, it isn't fine at all.
There are dinners (and at times whole days) I want to shed my skin like a snake, let out a warning hiss to all who cross my path and slither under my covers, alone and untouched.
Those days are hard, especially when my husband reaches out to lovingly stroke my arm or give me a hug after a hard day. I love him so much, but if he lays a finger on me on those days my tongue lashes out venom harsher than any poisonous snake's.
Ever since quarantine began, my son went from a casual cuddler to a full-blown stage five clinger.
In the "before times" we were definitely an affectionate family. Being away from him for hours because of work and traveling to and from work left me craving those little kisses and hugs. Being in each other's orbit 24/7, however, has him practically graphed to my skin. It doesn't matter if I'm in a meeting for work or taking a pee break: My little shadow is there, invading all of my personal space.
(Seriously, that's his little hand trying to wiggle his way into my bathroom at any and all costs.)
Logically I get why: My 2-year-old son's world was rocked on March 13th, when we pulled him from day care and practically everything he knows.
Don't get me wrong â my toddler isn't hating life at all. At home he gets a butt load of screen time, an unending parade of snacks, and the comfort of mom and dad all day long. He definitely isn't feeling the struggles older kids are experiencing during quarantine. However, I fully believe he is aware of the stress that is oozing out of this house, no matter how much we fight to contain it … and he's turning to physical touch for assurance.
âA lot in their day-to-day has changed, which is unsettling,â Dr. Emily Edlynn, a Chicago-based clinical psychologist, explained to Today Parents about kids' increased clinginess. âEven though we are home and more available then ever, it doesnât feel like enough. They need more reassurance and comfort and the way they seek that is through physical affection. It can be exhausting for us."
The constant touching doesn't just leave me feeling exhausted. It leaves me with a mountain of guilt too.
As I watch him physically burrow into my body like he wishes he could get back in the womb, I remind myself that no matter how cliché it is, there is going to be a day when he doesn't want my touches. My kisses will be wiped off, my cuddles will be tugged away from, and even the thought of that spikes a deep ache in my heart. I realize I need the physical affection too, and there are moments I genuinely savor it.
However, it doesn't stop me from wanting to rocket off into sun every now and then either.
There isn't an easy fix to this.
The most I can do on days I do feel like a raging "momster" is to be kind to myself as soon as my son is settled in his bed. I ignore the dishes and the clutter piling up around me and spend an extra 20 minutes in the shower. Or stretch out filling in the bed, enjoying the space I take up while my husband plays video games. Every day, I work to establish my own few minutes of space and time, and it does help to have those few moments to look forward to.
With "normal" being what feels like light-years away, I don't know how to square this circle. All I know is that loving my kid doesn't mean I'm obligated to cherish every moment. This is uncharted waters for all of us, and all we can do is try to not capsize our boats.
It doesn't solve the problem but it provides some solace, and honestly, that's all we can do.
