Motherhood in Quarantine

Motherhood in Quarantine

Even without the excuse of Mother's Day, I've been thinking a lot lately about that part of my identity.  I'm thinking about my pregnant friends and what it'll be like for them to give birth later this month.  I'm thinking about my friends raising kids alone.  I'm thinking about my mom friends who worked in restaurants and bars. I'm thinking about my mom, far away from me. I'm thinking about the million ways that all of us might be experiencing motherhood right now.  Fellow moms, I'd love to hear how you're doing. You can leave a comment below to share with everyone, or reach me at

Here's how I'm doing: 

4:45 am

I got a later start this morning than I’d hoped for. I’ve already wasted time fussing with a clump of splinters in my right hand, setting the water on the stove, watching a video of Brad Pitt playing Anthony Fauci on SNL. If I’m lucky I have two hours alone, but more likely our two-year-old will realize I’ve gotten out of bed, and in twenty minutes or so, I’ll hear her tiny feet on the steps.  “You there, Mama?” These days, darling?  Yes. I always am.

5:10 am   

During quarantine, I fantasize about being alone. Taking a bath alone.  Reading the newspaper alone. Eating lunch at my desk alone. It’s 5:12 am and already I’m mourning this fleeting moment of silence. A lot impacts how each of us is experiencing this pandemic. Here’s what it looks like for us:

For 8 weeks, my husband, our daughters Lucia (2) and Vita (4), and I have been quarantining in a little house in the woods owned by friends who live in Charleston.  A path leads down the hill to the Hungry River.  There’s satellite Internet—enough bandwidth for Alex and I to be living in our email and GSuite, but not enough, really, to stream movies online.  There’s a DVD player, though, and 1 DVD—Frozen 2.  Vita’s made a convincing case for being allowed to watch it twice a day, so long as she plays it in Spanish. “I’m learning, Mama!” Sure, sweetie. Whatever you want.

As the reporting director for our Sales, Marketing, and Creative teams, I’m still working full-time.  Alex took a few weeks to clear his head but now has been at the factory a lot, masked, gloved, figuring out how we’re going to make more pots than we did last year, but with 6 people on the factory floor at a time instead of 35.  My work and my motherhood are only getting half my brain, but that’s not really new, is it?

My vision of myself in motherhood was pretty off the mark from reality.  Before I had kids I’d imagined day after day filled with homemade playdough, construction paper crowns, planting gardens, going on walks.  I didn’t imagine myself working 50 to 60 hours a week, distracted by my cellphone, tired all the time, bickering with Alex over work stuff that we probably actually agree about if we could hear each other better. “Stop talking about East Fork!” was an early adopted phrase in both our babies’ vocabularies.

During quarantine, I fantasize about spending more time with my children.

5:48 am 

Still alone. Vita, understands that the Coronavirus is especially dangerous for older people, which has her very worried about her grandparents, especially my mom and dad, who live in Los Angeles and are still having to go to work Downtown.  She’s had a lot of tantrums—hitting her sister, throwing her fork, stomping her little foot while her face floods red.  When I’m patient enough to hold and breath her through it, the feelings behind the anger is always the same—I miss my grandma and I want to know when I can see her again. “Me too, baby,” I say. My mom’s started dressing as Disney characters and having my dad film her talking in character.  When Vita is sad, we watch them again.

Connie's Mom holds a Buzz Light Year and Woody Doll

The third week of quarantine, after I gave up on trying to keep my team’s regular meeting schedule, I gave myself some space to close my computer, turn off my phone, and—in spurts of 2 to 3 hours at a time—give my babies my full attention.  A few days I even turned my phone off at 4 pm and didn't turn it back on until the next day. That week Vita told me she had something she really needed to say.   “Mama,” she whispered, “ I know I’m not supposed to say this, but Coronavirus is the best thing to ever happen to our family.”

6:03 am

I’m terrible at long-distance communication. I hate talking on the phone.  I think a lot about writing letters but then I don’t—when would I? I miss my mom.  She loves the phone and is a great letter writer.  I’m trying to convince her to move out here to Asheville, but she’s not ready to retire,  or she feels ready but she won’t.  I can’t really tell.  Sometimes I think it’s selfish of me to suggest it.  LA is her home.  The only city she and my dad have ever lived in. The city they’ve given their entire life to serving.  But in quarantine, I fantasize about a big, dysfunctional family compound, with my sisters and brother and parents and kids. We’d drive each other crazy.  But we’d be all together.  That way maybe I could have a bath alone. 

6:37 am 

Everyone’s still asleep! Now’s my chance to read the newspaper, but I won’t.  Instead, I’ll slip back under the covers with Lucia and put my forehead on hers. She’ll wake up and hold my chin with her tiny hands. “Good morning, Mama,” she’ll say.  “Hi, baby.  Did you have good dreams?” She dreams the same dreams every night.  “I dreamed of you, Mama,” she’ll say.

6:39 am

Nevermind.  I hear footsteps.

Connie with her two daughters

Back to blog


Thank you all for sharing. You speak to me and give me courage and community. We are in Whittier , at the Eastern edge of Los Angeles County. It is July 3 and Covid cases are through the roof right now. I am a mother to twin 5 1/2 year old girls: Josephine and Camille. I am also away from my parents, who are in Oregon . Both are high risk with compromised immune systems and diseases affecting their lungs. My girls are aware my parents are the people we wear masks for. I say “we wear masks for the families here and count that others wear them for grandma and grandpa”. I am terrified they will get sick and both be gone before I can see them again. It seems the initial panic of March and May eased. In June. I began to function and not be too crazy. And I started to believe I’d see them again. Now LA County has more cases than 43 other states combined and I am fearful. One of my daughters has been pulling her hair out. Nearly one side of her head is bald. Stress manifests physically at this age, hah all ages, huh? I worry about these happy, cheerful girls.
Yesterday we cut strawberries up with big girl knives and hunted for bugs-after making plastic containers with tons of holes into sequined forest homes. We buried two large balls of Camille’s hair. And decorated a stone marker for them. Hoping the yard does not get too many more. Thinking of the much larger losses we as a nation, as a world must find a way to grieve. Today we are well and there have been no hair funerals -so a wonderful day. Be safe and gentle with yourselves.


Reading this was like rethinking my thoughts. Reading this was like hearing my kids repeat our days’ conversations well after I know they’ve gone to sleep. Reading this was like my husband and I were re-arguing the same thing again but remembering to hold hands and whisper goodnight. Thanks for this.


It chokes me up to hear Vita say C is the best thing to happen to your family. Through all the challenges and ups and downs you are experiencing, the littles will remember this time so differently than we will. So many memories you never would have had with them will never be forgotten (and will be told to her children). I am having a different experience with my teenager, but still attempting to soak in the extra family time. Hang in there! Glad to see you getting your “me” time with that delicious meal and glass of wine 🎉


I’ve got two little boys aged 2 years and 6 months. I spend a lot of time “counting my blessings” as they say because we are safe and healthy. But I also try to let myself feel frustrated and angry and sad. I try to sit with my feelings and let them move on. I imagine the safety and warmth of my own mother’s arms when I was a child and I work to provide that to my children. Sometimes though? I just wish I could curl up in my mother’s arms now and for a moment forget about the weight of the world. Solidarity!


If you made this a series I would show up and read every single one the minute you send it out. I have felt for a long time that part of my deep love for East Fork is partly just love of connecting with you and these days connecting with anyone who is a mother just seems to carry a little more weight than others. A good mom friend told me recently she felt like she had more in common with a mom stranger at the grocery store than with some of her dearest friends without kids.
Our mornings usually start with a big pile (4 of us and the dog) in our bed for some snuggle time before breakfast, but this morning especially I was just screaming inside for everyone to LEAVE! ME! ALONE! My husband gets up to do breakfast for them (lucky, I know) and I hide under the covers for a little while longer just hoping that those fleeting moments of being alone will be enough to get me through the day without absolutely losing my patience with anyone. Some days are better than others. Some days I’m not even mad at not being the mom I imagined and some days I realize I might never be her, but maybe that’s ok.
Thanks for sharing this!


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