I jumped into action as soon as the FDA’s advisory committee voted to approve COVID shots for kids ages 5-12. “Are you taking appointments for under-12s?” I asked every pharmacy in town—Walgreens, CVS, you name it. I even called the state health department twice, and when they admitted they had no clue about their vaccine distribution plans, I fired back, “I heard you have 150,000 doses just sitting there. What’s the deal?” The poor woman stumbled over her words, and later, a guy I managed to speak with said he’d take my number.
I even called hospitals three hours away. My partner, Jake, came home and advised me to chill out. “We’re not driving three hours tonight, and they have to wait for the FDA director’s signature,” he said. “You’ll have more information tomorrow.”
Then my sister-in-law, who lives in a different state, texted me at 6:30 AM: CVS was starting to book appointments for under-12s online on Sunday. Armed with insurance details and coverage info, I secured COVID shots for all my kids—one, two, three, in order of age—set for Monday.
That’s when the floodgates opened.
It Wasn’t Just About the Shots
Sure, it was about getting my kids vaccinated, but it was also so much more. My therapist put it perfectly: sometimes you don’t realize how overwhelming things have been until you see a glimmer of hope. I had been in survival mode for so long, just pushing through and ticking off tasks. Booking those shots was the first step toward reclaiming a sense of normalcy.
For the first time in a year and a half, I could finally see a light at the end of the tunnel. I could specify a date when my children would be fully immunized against COVID-19, drastically reducing their risk of hospitalization, even with the Delta variant. My daily routine wouldn’t have to be dominated by the constant worry of “How do we keep the kids safe today?”
Until I booked those appointments, I hadn’t fully grasped the extent of the anxiety I was carrying.
I’ve Been in Mama Bear Mode for Too Long
Since March 6, 2020, every choice I made was driven by one overwhelming question: could this put my kids at risk? They’ve been isolated from other children for nearly a year; friends’ parents have thrown pool parties without masks since June 2020, making it impossible to gather, even outdoors. I’ve kept my kids out of almost every indoor public space. This meant I was isolated too, avoiding nearly all social interactions for a year and a half. I couldn’t wait to get those COVID shots.
We live in a conservative state where masking is rare, so we’ve stayed home. We tried venturing out once, to the Georgia Aquarium, where strict mask rules were being ignored, sending me into panic mode among the whale sharks. I had to hold back tears so my kids could enjoy their first outing in… was it really a year and a half? My mind was racing with fears: What if someone here has COVID? They’re masked, but what if they still catch it? They’re about to get vaccinated, and I’m terrified they’ll get sick right before that.
Each day was a battle, and losing even one battle felt catastrophic. The pressure kept mounting, and finally, when I secured those appointments, I could acknowledge it: I had been living in a constant state of fear for a year and a half, with every decision focused on keeping my children safe. It felt like all I had done was a distraction from the reality of how heavy that burden was.
I Had Suppressed So Much Anxiety
In the early days of the pandemic, I could grieve. I was saddened that my kids were missing out on friendships and upset by the rising death toll. I’d write about it and break down. But as I shifted into survival mode, I stopped allowing myself to feel. I think that turning point came around June 2020 when my husband and I casually discussed the alarming rise in positive COVID cases. It became a norm to talk about death while watching our kids play in an above-ground pool we had bought during lockdown.
When I booked my kids’ COVID shots, all those early fears came rushing back: what if my youngest caught COVID and had to be intubated alone because I couldn’t be there? What if my husband, who has asthma, fell ill and I couldn’t see him because of the kids? How would I explain to them that their father was gone? If all three of them got sick and I could only be with one at a time, who would I choose? Who would be brave enough to handle it?
After booking those appointments, I felt like I was purging a year and a half’s worth of pent-up fear. I could finally take a step back, breathe, and acknowledge just how hard this has been. I realized it was about to end, and I could finally let myself feel all those emotions I had been holding back.
And now, I am finally ready to fall apart.
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In summary, navigating the pandemic has been a challenging experience filled with anxiety and fear, especially for parents. Booking my kids’ COVID shots was a pivotal moment that made me confront the emotional toll of the past year and a half, finally allowing me to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
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