Every time I take my daughter outside for a walk, I notice that spring is putting on a grand performance of tulips, daffodils, and dogwoods to an empty theater. We walk along the deserted streets, taking in the poignant, fleeting beauty of each crocus all for ourselves. I think about all the New Yorkers, holed up in their apartments, missing spring. And it occurs to me, while we may be missing spring, there is also a springtime of my daughter’s life, that I was partly missing in the pre-coronavrius days of school, childcare, and long work hours. Now, with equal parts gratitude and feeling like I’m drowning with work, I spend long stretches of the prime working hours of the day sitting on the floor playing legos with my daughter. Acknowledging the privilege in this (some parents still have to report to work, even if it puts them at risk, some are forced home but with immense financial stress…), I can’t help but notice that this global shift has coaxed me and many parents into closer connection with the springtime of our children’s lives.
