It’s Monday morning, November 2nd. Maia is in her nursery school and Noah is napping in his room upstairs. I’m sitting in my kitchen with my third cup of coffee looking out the window as the stormy wind tears leaves off the trees in our garden, scattering them on the grass to be washed by yet another rain shower. The coronavirus pandemic has left me feeling like those autumn leaves. Drained of energy, thrown around, showered with cold water and left to rot.
It was announced on Saturday that on Thursday November 5th England will enter the second national lockdown in attempt to slow down the spread of the coronavirus. They say the four-week lockdown could be extended further if the transmission rate of the virus has not come down by December 2nd, Maia’s third birthday (💔).
It was inevitable. I knew it was coming. And yet it still feels like such devastating news. Personally it’s not so much the looming lockdown life that gets to me because I’m amongst the lucky ones whose life and livelihood isn’t that severely impacted, as far as I can foresee. What really makes me sad and depressed is the overall severity of the situation, indeed so dire that our government would see no alternative to imposing a second national lockdown. They say the death toll from Covid-19 could be twice as high over the winter as in the first wave of the pandemic. Never mind the disastrous effects to peoples’ livelihoods and mental health… I also struggle with not being able to see a clear way forward – how and when will this go away? Or will it ever?
Recently my good friend and her family (and their extended family) caught the coronavirus, which made the threat of the virus much more real to me. Until now I’ve mainly worried about the health of the vulnerable people in the risk groups and the broader impact on the economy the pandemic has, but now I’ve seen (or heard to be accurate) up close how challenging it can be for a young family to get sick with the virus. Looking after a toddler and a baby while being sick and having to isolate for weeks without any support whatsoever… I don’t know how I’d cope to be honest! Probably not well.
I haven’t seen anyone from my family in over eight months and I haven’t been to Finland in over a year. And it makes my heart ache. We have been vigilant and have followed all of the guidelines and played it safe during the pandemic. Maybe it’s because I’m a mother, but I’m very aware of the responsibility we each have to fight this virus. I did feel a bit envious of people who went travelling over the summer, going on beach holidays and visiting family, while we stayed here in the UK, but I could not bring myself to take any risks. I know this sounds judgmental, but personally I felt it was the right decision to keep our interaction with other people minimal (which meant no airports) even when the government had relaxed the rules. As often is the case, the right thing to do is not the same as the easy thing to do. Of course it’s hard to be separated from my family and the fear of having someone fall ill and not be able to fly there is real. As a matter of fact, only last month my elderly father was in surgery after an accident and it gave me the chills to think what might have happened. And it made me sad not to be able to be there to offer my help and support…
My current life revolves around my husband and kids and our home in London and I feel very blessed to have it that way. The timing of me being at home with our small children while we live in this pandemic is coincidental of course, but also very lucky. Lucky because even on the hardest days I don’t question my purpose, and kids bring joy into each day. I’m prone to anxiety and can worry myself sick, but with two little people looking up to me and depending on me to stay strong, I must keep my head above the water. Most days I’m ok, happy even, but on the days when the world feels like it’s about to collapse I just focus on the very next task at hand: Maia’s nursery drop-off/pick-up, the baby’s nap, meal preparation, a park outing. I change bedsheets, water the houseplants, fill out forms to the parent-teacher conference, order more nappies, toilet roll and cling film. I carved my very first Halloween pumpkin. I don’t stop to think.
For many this second lockdown will be harder than the first but there are two important factors which I think will make it easier for us. Firstly, it’s not new. We’ve lived through one three-month lockdown and we survived. We can get through this one too. Secondly, schools and nurseries will remain open. Maia goes to nursery school (aka preschool) now for three hours every morning Monday-Friday and she loves it! She has friends there and fun, educational activities every single day. She is almost three years old now and socialising with other children is much more important to her now than it was six months ago and I’m so glad she will be able to continue that – as long as there are no coronavirus cases in her bubble. We spent a lot of the first lockdown outside in parks or in our garden, but we’re heading into the cold and wet winter now and daily outdoor activities wouldn’t even be possible and it would be much harder to keep both kids entertained. The morning school run also helps to start our day right. It’s a reason for all of us to be dressed and ready for the day and out the door before 9am. Being able to maintain that routine is important to all of us I think.
Noah woke up while I was writing this post and he’s continuing his snooze on my lap now. Thinking about the months ahead makes the lump in my throat grow… but squeezing my sleepy pyjama baby, makes it melt again. I am lucky.
I saw a quote which said:
We are not all in the same boat but we are all in the same storm.
I keep reminding myself that although this storm is scary, I have a great boat and the best people on it. That’s a lot to be thankful for.
xoxoxo,
Sini
PS. I’m still keeping my fingers crossed for Christmas
