I worry that my almost 4-month-old daughter only knows three people, and they all live with her.
I worry that my 5-year-old son is losing his passion for things he used to love to do because we’re not allowed to do them anymore.
I worry that my daughter only knows her Gaga as a face on a screen.
I worry that my son looks at screens too much.
I worry that my daughter is so used to having me there for every hour of her day that she will not be able to handle my absence when I am allowed to return to work.
I worry that my son will have forgotten how to share with his classmates.
I worry that my daughter will be immunocompromised because she has been so sheltered from the outside world.
I worry that my husband and I won’t get a proper date night until 2021.
I worry that I will never lose the baby weight because #quarantinesnacks.
I worry that we won’t be able to do the jobs we love until there is a vaccine.
I worry that I see more and more people on the street and fewer and fewer of them wearing masks.
I worry that I will never get through my Netflix queue because it seems to have only gotten longer in quarantine and not shorter.
I worry that, after finally getting the hang of being a Remote Kindergarten Teacher, my husband and I will have to learn to become Remote First Grade Teachers.
I worry that my friends will not get to hold my daughter for the first time until her first birthday.
I worry that my son will not get to hug his friends until they are all three inches taller.
I worry that my son will forget how much he loves to hug people.
I worry that I’ve forgotten how much I love to be hugged.
I worry for us.