It’s now day five of my self-imposed isolation. The world outside appears so vibrant and inviting through these snot-smeared windows. I find myself staring at my phone, silently pleading for it to ring or ping. Is there anyone out there who remembers me during this bleak period? I worry that I’ve forgotten how to engage in conversation. Will my friends at preschool recognize me when I finally emerge? I can hardly picture my favorite barista’s face anymore. I drift through the rooms of my home, repeating the same mundane tasks: laundry, dishes, diapers, dinner—on loop.
In my fantasies, I’m out enjoying the playdates I had planned. I stroll the aisles of Target with my little one while the older sibling is at preschool. I meet friends for coffee or have lunch at their houses. I even drive around just to keep the boys snoozing a few extra minutes. Life was idyllic before flu season took hold.
One innocent cough from a classmate, a misplaced handshake, a loving kiss from a grandparent—any of these could have kept me in that realm of social engagements, where we could take the kids to the pet store to marvel at fish and gerbils while sipping coffee. Instead, I find myself in a reality where I have nothing clean to wear, as every piece of clothing has been sullied by various bodily fluids. But I mustn’t cry, my dear child. I know that throwing up is frightening. It’s okay, my sick little boy. I was due for another laundry session anyway.
The baby’s cries and coughs echo from the next room, reminding me that the end of this tunnel is still far off. Today, I must find my center amid the barrage of cartoons featuring rhyming trains and sermonizing puppets. Acceptance is key in this solitary confinement. I won’t battle today—I’ll simply exist, letting the hours unfold as they will.
Eventually, I will demand that lunch include something other than chicken nuggets. I will create new educational adventures and turn off the claymation farm animals. But today is not that day. Today, I kneel, praying for healing, long nap times, and perhaps a surprise treat from my husband.
When Monday morning arrives, I will once again embrace the outside world. With the sun shining, I’ll greet the fresh air with a smile and maybe a new set of sidewalk chalk. My phone will be at the ready as I message everyone I know to join me in welcoming the day—until the next sneeze, cough, or until my husband succumbs to the flu.
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Summary
This blog post shares the humorous and relatable experiences of a parent enduring flu season, highlighting the struggles of isolation, mundane chores, and the longing for social interactions. It encourages readers to find solace amid chaos and anticipates rejoining the outside world when the time is right.