Mamas remove the Mask
Essays on Pandemic Parenthood Part 1
by Rosan Katlea Reodica, Louise Monique Dullaghan, and Riza Cuartero
May 15, 2021
They aren’t throwing in the towel. But they shall remove the Momma mask to share their stories and speak the truth. Here’s to staying safe - whatever that may mean to every mother during these turbulent times.
Everyday Sunday by Rosan Katlea Reodica (Dubai, UAE)
Healing comes in layers. When the doctors sliced me open, little did they know that while digging through the fats and muscles… they let out the wonderful, awful, invisible things that hold up a woman. Blood and hope. Body tissue and childhood wounds. Internal organs and a sudden shift to be perfect. For this soul. This human being not asking to be born in this cruel world, therefore, owed a great life. This conversation is best discussed in truthful whispers in a dimly lit corner booth of a comfort food restaurant, awesome with a beer, and friends who respect your history, honor your present, rest confident in your future. This pandemic does not make conversations like this possible. We go on Zoom. Phone calls. Hearts are pure but lines are choppy.
Dolores Sunday slips and slides in her no-choice, non-Montessori play corner. Her friends are a mermaid, a luchador, and a dinosaur. I am proud of her strong bones and imagination. I am not proud of her plastic toys.
We live in glamorous Dubai but my family huddles in our Heartquarters – a tiny studio where foldable sofa beds share space with the kitchen, my toddler’s yes space, my husband’s artist’s work desk, all crammed lovingly for dreams to take root and bloom. Our rental walls trying to mimic artsy lofts while accommodating animal alphabet and wedding photos. We live in suburban Dubai where the relatively affordable fee we pay rewards us with a mini forest courtyard. Dolores, maskless being below two years old, is free to feel stones, smell bougainvillea, run after pigeons with other kids of different cultures during golden afternoons. We still get to enjoy pools, cinemas, picnics with friends, fancy ramen in one of the world’s biggest malls. We’re damn lucky. Except we aren’t too. But we also are. No, really. Yes, really.
Dolores is slathered with expensive eczema balm after her bath. Her grandma indulges her with excessive screen time and sugar.
“I am over pretending to be okay. I am tired of being jealous of those who ace motherhood. It’s not their fault I suck as a Dubai mom. And then I watch TV Patrol and documentaries on parents who cannot afford soap or soup. I am engulfed in guilt. Whew, I also suck at being a Filipino pandemic mother. Where am I in the midst of all of this? I neither belong here or there, let alone in my own skin.”
Photo from Rosan Katlea Reodica
Financially, our resources are drained for luxury expenses but enough for us to still enjoy Dolores-safe allergy-free donuts as dessert after our pritong talong at Maling. Dolores drinks organic oat milk only. I cannot afford self-love skincare. Our bills are paid on time, sometimes. We cannot afford new clothes. I have been jobless for two years now and my full-time artist husband is the sole provider of our household. He is painting massive walls while grieving the loss of his youngest brother. My mom arrived here from the Philippines in a rush because her only grandchild suffered an anaphylactic allergy attack, and I have stay-at-home-mom-pandemic-postpartum depression. What a winning combination. I say winning combination because I will be extracting the truth and essence of this pain for growth and stability later on. Life, just you wait while I extract myself off this bed.
Dolores wails because screen time is over, I demand. Her fat tears pinching my heart.
Mothering during a pandemic, while in Dubai, is a juxtaposition I willingly put myself into. I ducked out of social media for over two months now because I am not a “good mom”. You know, the positive one who has strong Filipina spirituality, a flat postpartum belly, a network of mom friends who can afford a socially distanced brunch, minimalist home with no plastic toys. I am over pretending to be okay. I am tired of being jealous of those who ace motherhood. It’s not their fault I suck as a Dubai mom. And then I watch TV Patrol and documentaries on parents who cannot afford soap or soup. I am engulfed in guilt. Whew, I also suck at being a Filipino pandemic mother. Where am I in the midst of all of this? I neither belong here or there, let alone in my own skin. For Dolores’ 18 months celebration, I baked a focaccia bread spelling out Junk Terror Bill and it went viral. Weak efforts to make a concrete impact. Haha, pathetic. I need to mother well and still be a child of my third-world home while living bougie in a Pfizer-vaccinated country.
Dolores reads her silent books instead. Saying nanana, ap-pel, kokak, caaarrrr. Points to me and says Nanay.
I feel that it really doesn’t take a pandemic to suffer or succeed in all this. Once your body births another being, one really does pay attention by instinct or because of need. You are both in lockdown and free. You need to put your child above all. But you also have to take note that contributing to the world’s spilling population means you need to do it well.
She grabs my hand so that her father and I can dance with her before she goes to sleep.
Toddler laughter spills all over our Heartquarters.
The week is a blur. Days spill into one another. Cleaning day is also a play day, is also workday, is also battle day. My C-section scar, seven layers deep, tells me, mama anyway, every day is mothering day, look at this life. Every day is worship day.
She kisses us sloppily and cups my face in her tiny hands and says quack quack. Toddlers say I love you in weird ways.
I cannot wait for tomorrow’s new language of love. Mine. My daughter’s. Yours. The world’s.
Instinct: Motherhood’s Mother Ship by Louise Monique Dullaghan (Manchester, United Kingdom)
Before I became a mother, I was my ideal woman. I know that’s quite a mouthful to say but I’m quite proud of the life I’ve created for myself. So naturally, for this next phase of my life, I’ve also had my ideas of how it’s going to look like for me. I knew it was going to be tough but not a global pandemic kind of tough. As it is, I am a first-time mom who has moved to a new country, yet again, to start our own little family.
I could list a hundred things that went wrong or didn’t go as planned while I was pregnant, had given birth, and now raising a child but I wouldn’t change a thing. Becoming a mother during this time has made me stronger and softer both at the same time. It made me more compassionate to others and to myself. I’ve learned to let go of all my expectations and just accept everything as they come
“The urge to become a mother can’t be reasoned by logic. Even if I’ve read stories of mums struggling, it didn’t stop me from wanting to become one because motherhood is primal, it’s instinctive. No amount of reasoning could stop you if you’re called to become one. “
The urge to become a mother can’t be reasoned by logic. Even if I’ve read stories of mums struggling, it didn’t stop me from wanting to become one because motherhood is primal, it’s instinctive. No amount of reasoning could stop you if you’re called to become one.
Going back to my pregnancy, I loved every bit of it even though I spent most of my time indoors. We didn’t have the luxury of attending birth classes face-to-face but I didn’t feel like I missed out. We were able to stick to our plan of not over-preparing and just going with it. We were able to filter what information we’ll take in. No one was able to force their unsolicited advice, it saved me from politely telling people to mind their own business.
I knew that if I get information overload I would get so much into the nitty-gritty of pregnancy and giving birth which will result in me going mad and turning into a momzilla, if there’s such a thing. So, at our last antenatal appointment, the doctor told me that it’s best if I get induced ASAP. I didn’t argue or think about it much, I trusted the health practitioners who attended to me and just prepared myself mentally.
One of my realizations whilst pregnant was the moment you are bearing a child; you lose all the sense of control you have in yourself. You are growing a tiny human inside you and that little person doesn’t always listen to what you want it to do. He will squeeze on your bladder in the middle of the night, he will stretch his arms and legs and you’ll feel it in every inch of your stomach. I guess motherhood changes you even before your child is out in the world - pre-motherhood Monique would be fighting up to her very last breath to try and control each and every situation but I’ve just learned to live in the moment and not stress if things don’t unfold how I imagined it to be.
“And since no one really experienced a global pandemic before, we just operate by instincts.”
Photo from Louise Monique Dullaghan
After I’ve given birth, being isolated was beneficial for us. No one showed up at our doorstep unannounced. Especially here in England where people are a bit more cautious with boundaries and rules are given that we were in lockdown. Baby classes became available online which is a godsend. We didn’t need to go out to attend a class that I’m not sure if my son will be awake for. I attended a baby massage course via zoom the other day and it was perfect! Why? There were no forced interactions, there was no pressure of waking my baby up or changing his schedule because we have to attend the class. I just sat in front of my laptop while he was asleep in my arms. I actually learned and remembered a lot more because there was no pressure. The best thing about that was a recording of the class was sent to us to watch whenever we want.
I think what this pandemic has done to parents is we do everything with a genuine intention behind it. And since no one really experienced a global pandemic before, we just operate by instincts. We don’t do things out of pressure nor expectations because we can’t afford to risk our children doing something we don’t really like in exchange for getting the virus. Parenting during this pandemic is not harder, I don’t want to claim that we have it harder because of what’s happening in the world. We just have it different and if we don’t compare as we should – we wouldn’t know any other way.
My Pandemic Baby by Riza Cuartero (Parañaque City, Philippines)
Much like the pandemic, our (my husband’s and I’s) pregnancy was unanticipated. The good thing is, unlike the pandemic, our pregnancy was never unwanted.
The plethora of emotions that normally comes with pregnancy was doubled with anxiety and overthinking during this time. I am now 7 months pregnant, living in my parent’s home, and going into the 4th month of being away from my husband.
Both my husband and I were working in Yangon, Myanmar when we received the amazing news that we were going to have a baby - our first baby, in fact. By then, it had almost been a year since the pandemic started so we were already accustomed to the rules of the virus. A lot of plans made earlier in the year had already been pushed and fast-tracked because we couldn’t go anywhere. We had planned to officially meet each other’s parents (because he is a Vietnam national, we intended a month traveling to Vietnam then going to the Philippines then going back to Myanmar), that was step one of wanting to take our relationship more seriously, and step two was that by the end of the year, we would already start talking about having a family. Now, the first time I would be meeting his parents is with a baby in my arms. Talk about every parents’ dream.
“It was only when the military coup in Myanmar happened last February where we really felt the pressure of the virus. Because we couldn’t obviously wait for the crises in Myanmar to escalate and risk delivering the baby in a country in turmoil, I had to book an immediate flight back to the Philippines when I was still safe to fly while my husband stayed and waited for his work to finish.”
Although it wasn’t planned, we were thrilled to be pregnant. I didn’t consider it difficult at first because Myanmar’s COVID cases were not as serious, and the number of cases was decreasing every day, we were lucky enough to be able to book a private international hospital where we planned to deliver, stay in and raise our baby until the next year before moving to either Vietnam or Philippines.
The first trimester had been easy on me. Besides the usual morning sickness and mood swings, I was able to handle the first months of my pregnancy well. We didn’t really feel the pandemic, and I had my husband’s support in all of mommy’s and baby’s needs. I even considered myself lucky because of the pandemic, my husband had to stay home more, which means he gets to 100% serve my wants and needs.
It was only when the military coup in Myanmar happened last February where we really felt the pressure of the virus. Because we couldn’t obviously wait for the crises in Myanmar to escalate and risk delivering the baby in a country in turmoil, I had to book an immediate flight back to the Philippines when I was still safe to fly while my husband stayed and waited for his work to finish.
The concern and uncertainty that surrounded the pandemic and the coup was obvious in both our faces as I was going inside the airport. My husband quickly took off my mask to give me a kiss goodbye, I was already crying. I went in, and while waiting in line, my husband found a spot outside where he could see me checking in baggage and I could see him. Both drowning in tears, unable to speak, with half of our faces covered, and with our hands touching the glass wall that separated us, we tried to communicate what we felt and give each other some reassurance that everything will fall into place and we’ll be reunited again. That was by far the hardest and most painful thing I’ve experienced during all these.
Myanmar’s pandemic situation was peanuts compared to what I had witnessed in the Philippines. Before, I could still go out, visit public places, and even take public transportation, but again, that was Myanmar. I had my own challenges too, but I thought it would at least be easier in my home country. Oh, boy was I wrong. Like a lot of families’ and friends’ anecdotes, the pandemic had managed to keep me and my husband separated for quite a long time. Though I should still consider myself lucky.
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Baby Names. Because our little angel was created in the middle of the pandemic and during a strict lockdown in the city, our baby was immediately tagged as a ‘Pandemic Baby’. We got suggestions to name the baby after the pandemic, my brother jokingly wanting to name her ‘Covida’.
“…whenever I would start to feel hopeless and my enthusiasm to keep moving forward is wavering, I would feel my baby kick, giving me a nudge to stand up and it would jolt me back to fight for another day.”
Photo from Riza Cuartero
Security. Both me and my husband losing our main source of income made us realize we were too dependent on our jobs. Though the concept of working from home was easier for me to pursue as a pregnant person compared to when I would actually apply for office work because then the company would need to consider my travel and multiple leaves.
Regrets. I think what I regret the most was how my husband was not able to personally experience our pregnancy, especially this second trimester where the baby’s growth spurt can be seen and when we would be able to feel her first kicks. I feel some guilt because this is as much of a journey to him as it is to me. Now, daily massages, hugs, and kisses were replaced with 24/7 video calls (although this was difficult too because the military in Myanmar did internet shutdowns). Whenever we would have pregnancy scares, I could call him up and cry to him.
Touch. Every day I dream of my husband being able to hold and experience our moving baby inside of me, I think it’s such as incredible feeling being able to share this with your partner. So instead, I take videos of our baby kicking and send multiple videos to him. I tell him every time the baby kicks, and we spend time every night with him talking to my belly over earphones.
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Fast forward to the present, I’m still trying to get my husband home so that he can witness our baby be born. For now, I can only hope that when our little angel opens her eyes to the new world, she’ll see smiles instead of masks and that she’ll be able to play with other kids, like how we played when we were all young. I am hoping that by the time she gets a sense of the world, it has returned back to a kind of normal.
It may be hard to imagine bringing in a child into this world when this world seems pretty messed up. But whenever I would start to feel hopeless and my enthusiasm to keep moving forward is wavering, I would feel my baby kick, giving me a nudge to stand up and it would jolt me back to fight for another day. She is our constant reminder that this is only the beginning of her life and that we cannot give up and give in. In these times, we all need that constant kicking to push us to keep on making our world better, if not for ourselves, then for the people we love.