'Mamma's working' and other impossible things I now need to explain to my toddler

I'm in my makeshift office during week two of our new pandemic life when I hear it. "Mammmmmaaaaaaa!" It's my almost two-year-old son. Then my husband's voice in between the screams, "Mamma's working, Mamma's working." 

Yes, Mamma is working, but not very well. 

I know I'm not alone, fellow parents. Instead of working quietly in our offices, we're attempting to get our jobs done from our kitchen tables or bedrooms, with children dashing in and out with requests, complaints ... or just to say "hello." 

I know my family has it pretty darn good. We have a house, and yes, a backyard. And, we only have one kid. Not to mention we still have jobs. But still, I'm struggling. 

Even when I am sequestered away in the spare room, hunched almost productively over my laptop, my mind wanders. 

There's this thing about parenting. If your child is in the house, there's a constant buzz in the back of your mind. It's like a chat window going off nonstop. PING! Is he hungry? PING! Is he comfortable? PING! Is he going to nap today and give us a break?!! 

I attempt to ignore these thoughts; get back to work. But that doesn't always work. 

It goes something like this: 

There's a tiny knock at my door with a "Mamma, Mamma?" thrown in for extra heartstring pulling. I open the door. I know, I know. I should be strong. Keep that door shut. Create boundaries.

But I don't, OK? Because I'm worried what this change and confusion is doing to the little guy. Is he wondering,"Why is Dadda playing with me all morning while Mamma is doing all this door shutting?" So I cave. I go out. 

Before me is a pantless, grinning toddler, and a husband hunched on the ground with his head in his hands. My husband has decided this break from daycare is the perfect time to attempt potty training. I'm skeptical, but it's giving them both something to focus on for a few moments, so I keep my mouth shut.

But the frustration emanating from my husband is real. So I start helping out, enticing our son onto the potty. He teases us that he might sit down, his little bare bum darting back and forth across the living room. We give up on the potty. Just get a diaper on this kid and get out of the house please. 

I close the door to my "office." Then, the crying starts. I try to ignore it. It gets louder. Arg, back out I go. Because I know how hard it is to get this two-year-old to do anything, and I need my husband to stay sane so he can keep doing this. And also, I JUST NEED THEM TO GET INTO THE BACKYARD! 

My kid runs toward me. "Hug, Huuuuuuugg," he cries. My heart melts. I hug him. I tell him I love him. He says it back. I quickly get him dressed while he's focusing on the basketball my husband is strategically bouncing. Diaper on, pants on, coat on. And they're out. 

Okay, finally, back to work! 

But then, PING! As I hear the door shut ... I wonder if my husband remembered to put on our son's mitts …

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