My daughter had a play date today. That should be a normal occurrence, a non-event for a stay-at-home mama of a toddler… But these aren’t normal times. Around her first birthday, Elena reached the age where play dates could actually involve play and not just baby babbles and drool. The week after her first birthday party, we all went into quarantine.

(Side note: I used to despise the term “stay-at-home-mom” because up until March of 2020, my daughter and I never stayed home. I described myself instead as a get-outside! mama, taking Elena along with me to my moms-only workout group in the park where we entertained our kiddos with songs and tickles while doing sprints and jumping-jacks, and I sought out mommy-and-me classes for music, art, swimming, and whatever else I could find. But now – sigh – we do just stay at home.)

I will forever remember small things about Elena’s “What a One-derful World” themed birthday party, the last day we spent with any family or friends before the world shut down. The memories I reminisce about that day are not the things I thought I would remember, like how shy Elena was as fifty or so of our closest family and friends surrounded her high chair singing to her, how she froze in her tulle-draped chair decorated with a handmade burlap sign that announced “ONE!”, how she was more focused on all the eyes watching her than the gourmet cupcakes Mommy had ordered, how she refused to even take one bite – instead, I recall tiny details that would not have mattered to me or stuck out in my memories pre-pandemic.

I remember the ease with which we passed my baby girl from grandparent to aunt to college friend to neighbor, dozens of bare hands squeezing her squishy cheeks, and glossed lips grazing her head, inhaling her lavender-scented baby shampoo, with no fears of passing a deadly virus on to her, or catching it themselves. We served a spread of catered Greek food – gyros, and meatballs, and dips with pita bread and veggies. And some (many) of our guests grabbed their celery sticks and pita without (gasp!) using the tongs, dipping and re-dipping, an occasional lick of a finger that was dripping with tzatziki. There was no hand sanitizer on the tables, there were no masks tucked over our ears. We could see each other’s smiles as we greeted one another, we could watch lips spread open into laughter, we could kiss cheeks, we could hug.

After cupcakes and singing, we took her to the “playroom” I had set up in the wharf space we had rented overlooking Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. Sounds elaborate for a kid’s party, I know, but it’s true when they say the first birthday is really for the parents. And mama wanted tzatziki! And tulle! And gourmet cupcakes! And harbor views! (Later, I would cringe at my silly indulgences as our friends had to cancel their little ones’ parties one by one). The kiddos squealed and swung their arms as they tossed around the rainbow-colored balls in the ball pit. They giggled while racing through the caterpillar-shaped crawling tunnel. There was no pulling the toddlers back from touching one another, there was no scrub-down of the toys between each child’s use. There was no panic wondering how long germs could truly linger in that indoor air.

And I will forever remember how my brother seemingly hogged Elena, whisking her around from room to room with his two daughters trailing at his heels. Now, what I would give to just let my brother (whose youngest daughter, Elena’s cousin, is immuno-compromised) hold Elena for a minute, kiss her in person and not over Zoom. He hasn’t seen or held her in over six months.

So to schedule a real, live play date with another mama and her kiddo, to allow them to come into our home, our pandemic safe room (pandemic panic room?) was a feat that had been preceded by nothing short of hours and days of extensive planning and anxiety. My husband, who had never met this other kid’s parents, was cautious, had questions (Do they always wear masks? Eat at indoor restaurants? Any recent fevers?) that were far different from the questions he would ask about prospective parent-friends months ago (Do they like live music? Are they chill parents or competitive? Do they live nearby?). The other mama and I had chatted often about our COVID-parenting styles from six feet apart at the playground, though the masks made the distance feel even further. I imagine that moms pre-pandemic used to plan play dates based on kids’ ages, schedules, hobbies in common… not medical conditions, presence of symptoms, similarities in sanitation practices.

Elena and I eagerly awaited our friends’ arrival, me straightening and re-straightening her toys, washing hands and surfaces, taking deep breaths; Elena pacing back and forth from the front door to the side door nervously and excitedly exclaiming, “baby! baby!” as I had warned her a friend was coming to visit and she couldn’t fathom this was an actual possibility. (Her vocabulary hadn’t yet evolved from calling all children “baby!” to saying boy and girl.) Pre-pandemic, Elena wasn’t even walking; she had never had a friend over in her playroom.

At first, the girls were both so shy. Elena and her new gal pal each sat in their mama’s laps, babbling, smiling, and fidgeting. The other mama and I talked about how we had spent our weekends (went for a hike, lots of naps, avoided all human contact) and the girls’ latest developments (saying new animal noises, following simple directions like running straight to the bathroom after returning from the playground to wash hands). Eventually, as the girls got used to the back-and-forth of their moms’ chit-chat, they grew restless and more brave, left the comfort of our laps and ventured toward Elena’s toy bins. Their play slowly evolved from hesitant sharing/giving of dolls, to giggles over a “toot,” to clinking toy tea cups together, and to full-on squealing and chasing each other into and out of Elena’s teepee.

When they left to go home, both girls cried – “no! no! no!” from the other little girl as her mama put on her shoes and coat, and “baby! baby! baby!” from Elena as they walked out the door. And I have a feeling the other mama – like me – may have also cried a little while she held her daughter through the sobs, released the fear and anxiety that no, this pandemic hasn’t made it impossible for these girls to learn how to play with another child, that these only-children hadn’t lost out on any social development milestones, that these toddlers hadn’t unlearned how to relax, to have fun, to make a friend, in these six months of isolation. And their mamas hadn’t either.