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When my other half returned from a week-long business trip to New York, I asked if he’d brought me home anything nice.
He hadn’t.
“What?!” I was incredulous. “Not even a Toblerone from the airport?”
He looked sheepish. But he was really just being coy because the next day he revealed he had brought home something all along! And he’d been hiding it on his person the whole time! It was Covid. My husband went to Manhattan and all I got was this lousy Omicron subvariant.
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After seven days of parenting by myself while he had been away, and with his only symptom being narrows eyes ...”fatigue”, I was less than sympathetic when his positive antigen test meant he had to take to the bedroom and shut the door, leaving me holding the baby again. Anyone who’s been there (which is nearly everyone at this stage) knows that the first in the house to get Covid is the easy shift. That person not just “gets to” but has to stay in their room with the wifi password, while everyone else has to do all the work.
It was only at that remove, where I could hear family life and all of the daily routine going on without me, that I gave myself credit for all that is required of you to keep small kids going
The baby tested positive three days later which meant we could thankfully break down that bizarre internal quarantine. I had truly spoken to my husband more often the week he had been in the US than the three days he was locked in our room, taking his meals from a tray left outside the door and only coming out to use the bathroom. (I feel I might have gained an early insight into what it will be like to live with a teenager?)
[ Dr Muiris Houston: Why we need more research into long and mid-Covid-19 ]
Another three days later and my symptoms began. Temperature, chills, cough, fatigue — all the classics. It was my turn to take to the bed for a few days and oh how I enjoyed it.
It was only at that remove, where I could hear family life and all of the daily routine going on without me, that I gave myself credit for all that is required of you to keep small kids going. The fact also that three days spent in my bedroom, feverish and fatigued, was one of the most relaxing few days I’d had in a long time, really opens your eyes to how demanding caring for small kids is.
I don’t think I have to go into detail on why solo parenting is hard; It’s because you are doing everything by yourself.
While I was in the middle of it, I’d finish every day wondering what I could do better tomorrow: “Go on your phone less”, “Less TV for the toddler”.
Two lines into the song, both children were crying. And that’s where trying to be better than I was yesterday got me
But hearing someone else carrying out the hundreds of mini-daily jobs, gave me the chance to not be so hard on myself and realise how much I had done, rather than focusing only on the things I had not. Every day, I said to myself, you got up with them, dressed them, bathed them, changed nappies, wiped noses, wiped bums, washed hands, kissed knees better, prepared all their meals, provided many snacks, administered cuddles, washed their clothes, hung out their clothes, took in their clothes, folded their clothes, put away their clothes, explained to an increasingly irate toddler that her father does in fact have the same name as her ( “No he’s NOT Jones! I’m Jones! He’s Dada!”), broke up fights, tidied up their toys, swept up their food, read a story and another story and okay just one more story but this is the last story because I have to go downstairs okay?
Our fortnight in isolation was a flashback to the first lockdown where we didn’t leave the house and all I seemed to do was endlessly clean the kitchen (which seemed to dirty itself). Putting the toddler to bed one night, I asked her (as I always do) what we’d done today. I usually have to prompt her but this time she beat me to it. “We cleaned the kitchen”, she said, employing whatever is the opposite of the royal “we” because she didn’t do a thing.
The next day, in a bid to keep things more interesting than cleaning the kitchen, I dug out a pack of activity suggestions for kids that a public health nurse gave me at some point. I settled on the ‘hokey pokey’ as it didn’t require any props but two lines into the song, both children were crying. And that’s where trying to be better than I was yesterday got me: standing in my own sittingroom, sober, at 10am, shaking it all about while everyone about me wailed.
Sometimes you need to appreciate that where you are right now is good enough ... (sing it now) and that’s what it’s all about.