"Hold Gekko mommy," my 2-year toddler says as he shoves a PJ Masks toy in my hand while I'm typing (on deadline) at 2:29 p.m. on a Wednesday.
"Just a minute baby," I say dropping the toy while pushing the phone playing some version of Baby Shark toward him for the 100th time that day. Unfazed he shoves it back in my hand, a little more forcefully this time, and repeats: "Mama, be Gekko?"
I internally groan. This is the 15th time today I've had to "be Gekko" in a confusing and unending game of pretend. And so, because I am the world's biggest sucker, I close my laptop and "be Gekko" as best as I can, wishing to some omnipotent being out there to release me from this literal imaginary prison.
OK, playing isn't that bad, but I'll tell you, after six months of this pandemic isolation madness, I am over being Gekko and every other damn superhero toy out there.
I didn't always feel this way about playing, by the way. It used to be the highlight of my day.
During the first week of quarantine, I found myself scrunched up in my son's rocket ship tent during the middle of a work day.
It was "my turn" to be the on-duty parent and we were spending our hour together huddled in a 2-by-4 space playing 52 card pick up with the flash cards I ordered in hopes of keeping him somewhat educated during this time. While my valiant (and super naive) efforts at keeping him engaged in learning quickly deteriorated, I was genuinely loving the imaginative play.
Being a working mom didn't afford me this kind of constant one-on-one time with my son.
Despite the world falling down around me, there were parts of this I secretly was so grateful for. Here I was, watching my toddler grow and learn in real time, and was being blessed with this time in a way I never imagined was possible.
It was fascinating being brought into his world, and seeing the real one through his eyes. And truth be told, not matter how frustrated I am, I don't know that I will ever be fully "over" that part of play.
But as time during quarantine has gone on, the truth is, playing stresses me out.
As we're infinitely looping scenarios where his "cars are gonna crash" or "Chase is stuck on the bridge" my mind is elsewhere and telling my physical body it should be there, too.
When am I going to be able to answer those emails?
Is tonight going to be another night of me working on pieces while dealing with his constant wake-ups until the wee hours of the morning?
How am I going to get anything done if I have to stop every few minutes?
Then, of course, the mom-guilt kicks in.
While I'm fully aware that I don't need to hover over my toddler, the truth is, left to his own devices I'm 99% positive my house would burn down at the worst and at the least we'd be making routine trips to the ER. I feel terrible that he has no interactions with other kids, and is missing out on the important socializing he should be getting.
I feel awful he has a mom who is mentally jumping everywhere when she's with him — from work problems to home problems. A mom who's running on max four hours of sleep in order to get everything done and maintaining some semblance of herself.
It feels like there's no way to win.
I'm fully aware my situation is a privileged one, so perhaps it seems silly to be complaining about playing.
But the truth is, that doesn't change the reality that I am drained to the bone by the end of the day. Playing games of pretend and trying to follow these imaginary story lines feels like one more mental task my frazzled brain just can't handle.
Blocks? Coloring? Crafting? Baking? That doesn't bother me at all. But the hours of doing mental gymnastics to figure out the narrative he is making up with pretend … I no longer have the brain space for it.
Playing with my son is turning into a chore, and truly, it breaks my heart to even admit that.
Before the health crisis, I already felt pulled in every direction, but at least I had the ability to be present in my tasks.
Now, work is home, home is day care, and my whole day revolves around a dining room table. There is nothing separate, and no escape, and frankly, playing some days feels like the straw that will break the camel's back.
And I know it won't be this way forever. At some point, we're going to go back to some semblance of "normal," and I know I will miss parts of our constant bonding time. Until then, I will aggressively sip my coffee between Zoom meetings and plastic sword battles because that's what I have to do.
One day, I'll miss playing with my son more than I'll be able to bear. But for now, I just wanted to let any other mom who is cringing at the thought of playing another round of make-believe know that you're not a monster. Your brain is working in overtime, just like mine is, and it's OK to be frustrated.
As long as we show up for our babes and do the best we can, that's good enough for now.
