Parenting – Minimally Montessori

Let me begin by just giving out a big, gigantic sigh. SIGHHHHHHH. I’m laying in bed, the day after H’s first birthday, and I’m hit with a wave of emotions. Happy, excited, joyous, reminiscent, sad, and now I’m misty eyed. My baby’s now one. She’s no longer a baby. Well, she’s my baby, but she’s not a baby anymore. She walks on her own. She stands at the kitchen gate and yells at me for “banana”. She plays Animal Crossing in my Switch. She’s interested in getting dressed and how clothes work, and has started “brushing” her teeth and hair. She’s definitely not a baby anymore.

Her birthday went well. I decorated the night before, printed out a photo albums worth of photos (you can sum up a new person’s life in 150 photos, I found out). I baked a cake from scratch, stressed out about whether I should give her a real cake or a low sugar one (we went with low sugar). She loved it. The balloons were a big hit, and she avoided popping any. We only introduced a few new toys because she got overwhelmed very quickly, but we anticipated it.

I made a video, showing my favorite moments from the past year. I paired it with a song that was used in Futurama, one played at a heartwarming scene. I cried while making it. In 3 minutes, I watched my baby grow up. I couldn’t stop wondering how it had already been a year. Time during covid seemed like it stood still, but here was my proof against that. She grew by the day.

I pulled out the outfit we brought her home in from the hospital. It was so tiny. She weighed less than our cat when she was born. I keep trying to figure out how? How was this toddler so fragile and tiny at one point? She walks around pointing as things she notices, reveling in each day, but it feels like last week that she slept against me constantly as I spent my mornings (or was it nights? time melted together in the newborn phase) in the tv room, dozing off with the tiny warm baby on me. My husband and I would switch shifts, only seeing each other in passing as one would wake up and take the baby, and the other go to bed.

I want to bottle up this time, so I have it forever. Her gentle voice, her tiny handprints all over everything, the way she teeters as she walks. I want to remember it all. These last couple weeks have been rough on me, emotionally. My baby is no longer a baby. And I’m okay with that. But it happened so much quicker than I anticipated.

Life as a new parent in quarantine

I had H in December 2019. It was cold and rainy day the day we brought her home. I remember the first place we went as a family of three was Target. Dazed, we just walked around, no real goal. We kept a seat cover over her at all times in public, trying to protect her from germs and sickness. We put off seeing friends and family for the first month. The fewer people she saw, the less chance of getting sick she had. “There’s always later”, we said. I wanted to get therapy as my depression lingered too long. “Later”, I told myself. As she got her first shots, we relaxed a little. We went to stores, took her to our favorite restaurant. She slept the entire time. I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. The newborn phase was almost over.

News reports started circulating of an unknown virus. Weeks went by, and suddenly, it was here. All around us. I was helpless as I watched all of the plans we had for H’s first year fall apart around us. My long distance parents and sibling had plans of visiting this year. Gone. We had plans of going to Disneyland. Gone. Plans of visiting home in 2021. Gone. Trips to the library. Gone. Stores. Gone. Play dates. Gone. Everything gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. After half a year of not being able to do anything, I watched my social life slip away. I realized that I was perpetually stuck in the newborn phase. Alone, with no support.

Our first outings were to get baby supplies at Target, and coffee at Starbucks

Here it is, less than a month from H’s first birthday, and I’ve been to a store twice since March. I’ve long since faced the fact that my family won’t see H until she’s closer to 2. I’m worried about what not being around other people for the first couple years of her life will do to H. Will it affect her negatively later on? I mourn the opportunities we’ve missed. The act of taking her to a park is now marred with fear, what if someone passes too close? What if we’re not doing enough? Most of the time, we just don’t go.

As I healed, we would walk around outdoor malls for exercise

This was just not how I imagined the first year of being a parent to go. It’s so lonely, full of doubt and uncertainty. I mourn the support I never got, the ways this already difficult situation was made harder. Even still, I am thankful that I had H when I did, and not a few months later. Because we’ve been stuck at home since March, we’ve really been on vibe with H’s schedule. Our world revolves around her entirely, so our schedule has been optimized entirely for her. We have four adults in the house that adore her, so she always has someone to care for her. And that, I am thankful for. The last 8 months have been a delicate balancing act between being thankful that we got so lucky in our situation, and being emotionally destroyed from shutting down our life for at least a year. It’s been a tough year, but I take comfort in knowing that it isn’t affecting H negatively, at least for now.