38 Days Later — Story Time

When I watched the news and saw that schools and nurseries were closing, I walked away from my children and crumbled. Besides from a deadly virus doing the rounds, being locked-in with my two darling children for the foreseeable was personally my biggest fear.

Of course I love my children but I’m not afraid to say that they are not my whole life. I value going to work where I can have adult conversations, eat my lunch without being disturbed and finish a cup of tea while it’s still warm. And I cherish my free time where I can meet up with my sacred circle of friends - counselling each other through adulthood, lifting each other’s spirits and being the best group of cheerleaders cheering each other on you could ever imagine.

So far, working from home while caring for my children has been tough. Home-schooling is nearly non-existent in our house - we’ve exhausted Netflix and have just started our free trial of Disney+. It’s my only solution to a working week while rain is forecast and the garden is out of bounds (listen to me justify my parenting).

Aside from welcoming the slower pace of life with lovely beach walks, laughing at my husband doing Joe Wicks’ PE lessons, all while tie dye clothes are coming out of our ear holes - there are days that have already shaped my lockdown experience; some that will unfortunately haunt my memories of this time forever. And so, I’m sharing with whoever’s listening a snapshot of the last 38 days in our house:

Day 1: my 1 year old trapped her fingers in the back door and received a black eye from said door when I scooped her up in my arms in panic. Great start.

Day 10: my 4 year old pretends he’s a dog and decides to shit on our garden lawn and called me when he was “finished'“ to wipe his bum. I dread to think what the neighbours saw, we’ve only lived here 6 months.

Day 17: we didn’t board our flight to Texas. Knowing that Austin was at the top of my husband’s bucket list, I had secretly saved up and nervously booked this as a surprise for our family. I tried to lift his spirits by photoshopping us there instead.

Day 26: the worst day yet - our dog died. We were so focused on worrying about vulnerable family members falling ill that we really didn’t see this one coming. Having to explain his death to my 4 year old was a tough one. And mourning our dog while trying to hold myself together for my kids, was nearly impossible. There’s no guilt like your two chocolate button-eyed darlings looking up at you wondering why you’re crying, again.

Day 28: my 31st birthday featured crying about my dog, drinking all the wine and missing my friends more than ever. My husband had organised for my sacred circle to drive-by my house to wish me happy birthday. I was equal parts overwhelmed with love and heartbroken that I couldn’t embrace them all.

Day 32: we bought a bike trailer to try and mask the pain of not being able to go for dog walks. For my allocated hour’s exercise, I strapped the kids in the trailer and rode until I physically couldn’t anymore. The sea breeze muffled their whinging but their giggles as we rode over bumpy pavements were loud enough for me to hear - I felt joy again, at last.

Day 34: a lady behind me in the supermarket queue blasts out music on her phone. Normally I wouldn’t welcome this obnoxiousness but she plays Hot Stuff by Donna Summer. For the next 3 minutes, I couldn’t get the scene from the Full Monty (where they’re queuing in the job centre) out of my head. It really made me smile - I looked around to see if anyone else had made the connection but no one looked up.

Day 38: my kids (and I) have had a million meltdowns today - my husband pleads with me to take our one year old to Asda click-and-collect to give him a break. I couldn’t believe what he was saying - he leaves the house for work every day. I quickly lock myself in the car and drive away. Relief.

We then battle with the recycling bin to fit all our wine and beer bottles in. Death, birthday, ongoing pandemic - it’s been a heavy two weeks.

Day 38, still: I sit down and reflect on the last 38 days and decide to write this. I laugh, I cry and I feel lighter. I know I will sleep better tonight.

While we’re being constantly reminded that we’re all in this together, we shouldn’t forget that everyone’s versions of lockdown are different. I was in two minds whether to write this for fear of sounding like I feel sorry for myself (I am a bit) but then I remembered the magical feeling of connection. If sharing my lockdown struggles encourages you to share yours (however insignificant they may feel) and we all come away feeling lighter, then I will share away.

And even though I’m not working on the frontline nor am I a key-worker, I like to remind myself that it’s still ok to not have good days. It’s still ok to cry. It’s still ok to drink more wine if it helps you sleep at night. And it’s still ok to lock yourself in your car for 15 mins if it means you regain a bit of sanity.

If you see a black Citroen parked up on the seafront blasting out Donna Summer, give me a wave.