Legal Alien

[thecoviddiaries]

Groundhog day

05:30 Woken up by crying

06:30 Finally get downstairs, try and make breakfast quickly enough for baby, who’s crying because he drank the milk meant for breakfast during the night.

07:30 Clear up breakfast mess

08:00 Play with baby

09:00 Baby naps, but so do I because I only got 4 hours of broken up sleep

10:00 Woken up by crying

10:30 Feed baby and do a bit of educational stuff

11:00 Start on lunch for the family, planting baby in front of The Wiggles and feeling guilty the whole time.

11:30 Baby scoops lunch out of his mouth and smashes all over the table, his chair, the floor, his clothes, his head, me.

12:00 Start cleaning up lunch and do the rest of the house, trying to manage deliveries and disinfecting

12:30 Try and get out of the house for multi-generational exercise. Mum walks around the park, while I do downward dog and say, “not in your mouth” on repeat to baby.

13:30 Race home to try and catch his nap window

14:00 Nap? Or just crying. Both baby and me. Give up and take him back downstairs after an hour of struggle.

15:00 Start to run out of ways to keep him occupied. He starts the daily pulling and crying at mummy routine.

16:00 Give up and put on Timmy Time. Feel guilty. Sit in chair and stare at small sheep counting objects.

17:00 Start dinner

17:30 Dinner all over the place

18:00 Bath and bed? Maybe. Or crying.

19:00 Clean up operation from dinner. Put away toys crawling on the floor. Wonder if I can just sleep on the carpet.

19:30 Finally start work at, you know, my actual job.

21:30 Oh god it’s almost time for his first wake up of the night, I’d better get to bed.

22:30 Woken up by crying

00:00 Woken up by crying

03:00 Woken up by crying. Woken up by crying. Woken up. Woken up. Crying crying crying crying.

And repeat, and repeat, and repeat.

[thecoviddiaries]

People can be wonderful

This time on Monday, I was knocked for six thinking that I would have to add going round to my father’s place every day in PPE to look after him after his psychiatric ward closed due to Covid. But thanks to a local volunteer support group, he has people delivering food and a neighbour supporting him mentally via text message - they’re both older and self-isolating, so it makes more sense than at first look. The promised care coordinator never turned up, but thanks to a leaflet through his door from this group, he has people to help and I don’t have to put my family at risk and upset him by going round in a mask and gloves. I support financially and with regular calls. We’ve been estranged most of our lives, but it’s important he’s looked after.

Then today my mum’s local community stepped up - the local church did a virtual Easter coffee morning via Zoom and right now, my mum is outside on the street drinking champagne at 2 metres distance with the rest of the street in a bring your own glass social distancing party. I have to stay back, as baby is sleeping, so I’ve taken my revenge by eating all his Babybel.

Still, it’s enough to give you an albeit fleeting warm fuzzy. When I finally leave mum’s and go back home she’ll need that community. After the lockdown finishes, the virus will still be there and the economic downturn will be brutal. We’ve seen that we can’t rely on our government, so communities will have to look after each other.

[thecoviddiaries]

The knock on effects of Covid-19

I witnessed first hand the awful pressure on the NHS this week and the horrible effect it’s having on people. My estranged father’s psychiatric ward was closed down to care for Covid patients and he was sent home as it was thought it was safer for him there. For someone who is desperately mentally ill, this is a big decision. It must mean they’re really scared.  Although I was aware he was a potential vector of infection I went round in mask and gloves. He was highly distressed, of course and in total disarray. He can’t cook, he’s too scared to go out and he’s incapable of rational thought. On top of that, he has no social worker (or care coordinator, as they’re called), because they’ve been retasked for Covid-related work. And every time I go there, I’m risking carrying infection to my mum and my baby.

Thankfully, a local volunteer group are stepping in to support him with food supplies, so I don’t have to keep on taking that risk, but I genuinely fear for him and all the other people that are going to be pushed down the priority list. As I stood there in his tiny flat, not even able to touch him or hug him or show him my face behind my mask, I wondered if it was the last time I would see him.

[thecoviddiaries]

The fear or Tesco delivery 2

This morning I was expecting our next longed-for Tesco delivery. I was even excited about it - cheese! Mixed nuts! A bottle of wine, even! All the non-essentials that had been pushed aside for baby formula and eggs in the last one were coming. I knew it was coming between 8 and 9 and was maybe, just a little, watching out the window, but was in no way laying in wait for the delivery man.

A Tesco van had been parked outside our house for some time that morning. This was not a surprise - there’s a little mini-Tesco around the corner and our street often has parking spaces not found in other streets. I lost interest, doing the normal morning stuff, but around 8:30am, I put out the empty milk bottles. Opening the door, I found a box of beer and a bag of cheese on our doorstep. Then I heard a panicked voice,

“Could you close the door?”

I looked up - the Tesco delivery man was across the road from me, holding a box. I had rubber gloves and a mask on, out of habit more than anything.

“I’m just putting out the milk bottles.”

“Could you close the door.” This was not a question. “Or I’ll blacklist you.”

I was astounded - I pulled down my mask so he could see my face, perhaps he hadn’t heard me. He was a good ten metres away, so I assumed it was safe. I began to repeat my defence that I was just opening the door out of coincidence, but suddenly his words sunk in and I saw a future without any deliveries, having to make multiple trips to the supermarket, putting my mum at risk every time.

“Okay, okay, I’m going, goodbye,” I protested, shutting the door. 10 minutes later, the phone rang - I was allowed to pick up the groceries.

At first, of course, I took it personally. How dare he be so rude! A please would have sufficed! Then, I was burned by the injustice. The last delivery had turned up with palates and I was the one that had to asked him politely to keep his distance, while I unloaded them. If they’d only told me the new procedure, of course I would’ve respected it!

Then, the fear hit me. Not the fear of being left without deliveries, but the fear in the delivery man’s face. Overworked, stressed, in fear for his life every day. Now I replayed it in my head, that was the tone I’d mistaken for rudeness. Suddenly his job was life or death for him.

It hit me hard, while I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing every piece of shopping with bleach. What if, for all our noble intentions, this is just too much for us? How many sleepless nights of baby waking will it take for me to make a mistake? To let in the virus or to snap at someone and have a key lifeline taken away? Or to slip with a glass and cut myself and have to go to A&E, risking infection.

How many houses can this delivery man serve before he’s at risk? Is this his only way to support his family? Aren’t they afraid for him every day?

That dull line again, knocks at my brain, “if I make a mistake, someone dies.” Suddenly it’s true for me, for him, for everyone .

[thecoviddiaries]

Blimey, but it’s been a busy few days. Baby wakes up sometimes every 30 minutes and for good around 5am, so I’m on the go, up, showering in record time while he headbutts the mysterious bathroom force field keeping him from his mum, changing, dressing, playing, then it’s downstairs for the day’s round of cleaning, cooking, disinfecting the deliveries, house admin, playing, making the family do a workout, filing my business accounts, doing my job and even, god forbid, doing a bit of writing and blogging.

And then, THEN, the bloody hot water goes off. Thankfully we had a hero Italian plumber come in a mask, latex gloves and overshoes (he’s from the north where they really take shit seriously these days). He assessed the situation, sourced parts, bought them and installed them in TWO showers within hours. Yet again these days we’re seeing that, surprise bloody surprise, it’s not the flipping bankers, celebrities or (cough) journalists that are the heroes of the day, but the tradespeople, delivery people, cleaners, health workers and every day so-called “low skilled” workers that stack our shelves and make sure shit.keeps.running.

So, we’re exhausted in this house and I have to make sure I’m in bed by 10pm for my first of many wake-ups that start around 10:30pm. BUT, we did manage to go for one solitary, mingy little walk the other day, me and the baby. We trekked over to Chiswick house, crossing the roads to avoid people and putting my mask up and down depending on whether people were nearby, much to the amusement of baby, who thought we were playing peepo.

There were lots of people on the streets, honestly and, although most tried to distance, it’s just not practical in London. I also heard a twat jogger telling an older person they should stay home to exercise and leave the streets to those “in their prime”. He was gone in his lycra-clad superiority before I could hurl abuse at him.

On the bright side, baby loved the flowers outside of the conservatory at Chiswick and didn’t try and eat one of them - result!

[thecoviddiaries]

So this was the state of our fridge this morning, before the long, long awaited Tesco delivery made 3 weeks ago arrived. Slated for 0800, it arrived at 0730, while I was putting the baby down for a nap, so the delivery man was treated to the sight of me with a rubber glove on one hand, a crying baby in the other, slippers, leggings and wild hair from having it half tugged out of the ponytail by aforementioned overtired baby. “WAIT ONE MOMENT,” I screeched at him.

I dumped baby on the fairly clean kitchen floor, where he thankfully found a thick and fascinating rubber band. Making a quick judgement call that he probably couldn’t choke himself with it, I returned to the door where the delivery man kept his distance and we did an awkward dance of unloading food at arm’s length from his plastic delivery crates and into a huge tartan storage bag. Then I scrubbed myself down, stripped off my outers layers and, half-naked, took the baby to bed. Then I came back down and bleached all the food containers and bag, leaving it to dry over a few hours. Then I scrubbed the floor, sanitised myself and washed hands and ,as I was finally making a cup of fucking tea, my mum came down from bed - “ooh, is there tea?”

So, Boris Johnson and Matt Hancock have it, apparently. My glimpses into the outside world consist mainly of Twitter and the BBC website, when I’m not working, cleaning or entertaining the boy. I did venture outside this evening for the first time in a week to post a letter and the street was quiet for a Friday night, but certainly not deserted. The only weird sights were empty buses and people queuing outside the Tesco mini-mart at 6 feet distance.

For working over a decade in the international political sphere, my focus has narrowed to a minuscule area of two people and a house. It’s bizarre that it still feels such a huge task and yet it does.

I was sad to miss the clap for carers yesterday evening, as I was dealing with a screaming child, but mum lit and candle and clapped out the window. She was born in 1946, so has grown up in the care of the NHS and is a fervent supporter.

And finally, DELIVERY MEN ARE HEROES (even when they don’t deliver the cheese I ordered)

[thecoviddiaries]

Baby’s latest favourite game - solve the lock and open the door. Seemed like a great idea, until I realised I’m training him to get past any parent’s last line of defence. Neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours. After the last gloomy post, I’m doing a lot better because.... and it’s going to sound cheesy...of the kindness of friends and neighbours. A lady in my NCT group dropped off a box of baby formula, my tenant left Calpol and coffee - the first for a teething baby, the second for a sleep-deprived mum - and my delivery men (they’ve all been men so far) have all respected social distancing and are following instructions to leave parcels at the door, knock and leave. The poor Amazon guy who delivered my favourite 100% black chocolate and a baby jail yesterday, got the crazed sight of me in a mask and marigolds waving at him and calling him a hero. Yep, that’s the state of me these days, but I’m at least not worried about baby getting ill, apart from the danger of him eating whatever he finds on the floor. He literally crawls along licking the goddamn floorboards and today I had to forceably remove a leaf from his mouth, which had been there for over an hour after we came in from the garden.

The UK PM announced a good-as-lockdown yesterday, but for us it really doesn’t make any difference. We haven’t been out in ages and to be honest, being spared the disinfection routine when I come in and the stress of the crowds at the shops is working for me. Also, I’m so busy with baby, work and then so knackered I practially pass out when/if I can sleep, I’m completely living in the moment, so I’m not suffering from a lot of the worry some of friends are feeling about the future and the economic shock. Sure, I might be in a little bubble, but I’m getting by and the simple task of protecting my family really sharpens the mind.

[thecoviddiaries]

Not one mistake

Today I did a deep clean of the house, disinfecting the floors and surfaces, since the baby has started to crawl. I don’t think the virus is inside the house, but if he gets a bad bacterial infection, we can’t take him to the doctor’s - too much risk of bringing the virus back to my vulnerable mum. I was so proud of my clean floors. Then around midday, the baby started screaming - he’s having tummy problems and I was completely distracted when a surprise delivery came to the door. It was a fresh veg box I’d ordered a while ago from New Covent Garden Market and forgotten about because they hadn’t sent me a confirmation email. I answered the door to a harassed looking delivery man who came right up to the door and before I knew it I was taking the box from him. It’s not like he’s sneezed or anything or we even touched, but we got close, closer than 6ft. Usually I’d shake it off, but I’m so painfully aware that if I get sick then I run the risk of killing my mum. I can’t make one mistake, not one. And with the amount of sleep I’m getting at the moment with a poorly and sleep regressing baby, that’s hard, really, really hard. If she dies, it’s my fault.

[thecoviddiaries]

Bad times and good times

My order of baby formula didn’t come when it was supposed to. I contacted the seller and they said it had been “misplaced” by the courier. It gave me a little tug at my soul. Was it really misplaced? Was it stolen? Stolen by someone desperate or someone looking to make a quick buck? These are my thoughts these days.

Baby is a sturdy 8 month old boy, so he can survive on other brands (if I can find them) or in a real pinch, I could give him goat’s milk, watch his nutrition and make sure he’s getting vitamin drops. But what about those with newborns who can’t breastfeed or those with babies who have genuine allergies or reflux? That little heavy tug at my soul again.

But it’s not all despair at Chez Quarantine. We do multi-generational home work outs with my elderly mum doing modifications, while I use the baby in a sling or hold him as a weight. We dance, we sing, I play ukulele, mum plays piano. We make ingenious recipes with whatever we have.

Also, little acts of kindness: a work colleague from over a decade ago offered me formula via Twitter, even though she has her own baby; friends offered to keep checking the supermarkets and when, in my disinfecting frenzy when coming in from outside the house, I left my keys in the front door, a delivery man knocked and let me know they were there.

The physical and mental toll is there - I’m tired all the goddamn time, but that’s also as much to do with the 8 month sleep regression - and I’m terrified of making a mistake and being responsible for infecting my mum. But the actual being stuck in the house, isn’t that bad, so far.

[thecoviddiaries]

Every moment is full at the moment. Baby care, cleaning house, working or doing house admin. So, I try and find moments of creativity when I can. I haven’t had the chance to make music for a while, so I started playing around with some of baby’s toys. I think there’s a basis of a good sample here! Maybe layered with a rattle, a wooden spoon...

I managed to score some Calpol in the end. Went out early doors and queued out the door at Boots and Superdrug for an hour before it opened. Found out the massive queues were for hand sanitiser! It’s nuts that we’ve come to this, especially as hand sanitizer is really only for a) medical facilities b) the very vulnerable and c) when you can’t wash your hands. Washing your hands is just as good. With all this overuse, we’re probably creating a mega super virus.

Oh and the baby started crawling in earnest yesterday. I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom and he was in the bedroom and I suddenly felt a little cold hand on my foot and heard a “BAH!”. Nearly shat myself. Now I’m running around trying to baby-proof everything and upping my cleaning routines. I. Am. Knackered.

But, even though it means I have to work later, I’m finding time for some online group chats with mates and my gym back in Germany are live-broadcasting classes. Thank god for technology. Right, back to my JUNGLE IS MASSIVE remix...

[thecoviddiaries]

Today I cried over spilled Calpol. Not just any Calpol - the last bottle in the chemist, which I queued for ages to get and then, trying to disinfect myself and carefully enter the house, I dropped it and it smashed. We have half a bottle left and, although it’s not needed for fever (yet?), baby is teething and it just sucks that people are even buying that up, although I guess I understand. Everyone’s afraid for their children.

Although I’m flat out, caring for the family and then working from home in the evening, I do find myself having fun, digging out my old train set from mum’s loft and cleaning it off for baby; setting up Skype and Facetime for mum or my local church, so people can stay in touch; having a virtual cocktail hour with friends over video chat or just putting on music and dancing around the house with baby and mum, making sure we all get some exercise.

What I’m actually finding the hardest is looking after myself. I currently have five plasters on my hands, thanks to wear and tear from constant washing and cleaning, fixing up mum’s ancient bike so I can do quick emergency errands and, naturally, cutting myself on the bloody Calpol bottle. I can’t afford to get infections, so I’m walking around like Nelly in an early 00s music video.

I went out post-baby bedtime to try and get some fresh produce, but all there was in Tesco was onions and chard. I totally bought some. AND I went in wearing an N95 mask and gloves - to be honest, more so nobody would mess with me, as the effectiveness of masks is very dubious. Fun fact - if you’re wearing a mask, Tesco staff will just automatically beep through any problems you have in the bagging area on the self-scan, they certainly won’t come near enough to check. I’m so bored with the same 5 baby books we brought, so an old friend is bringing round emergency supplies. Should be easy enough to disinfect and bring in, although I might hold on to the scintillating mystery that is “where is my cuddly toy?” You’ll never believe the twist in that one!

[thecoviddiaries]

So, this is our new disinfection station with steps to clean shoes, hands, deliveries and door handles. Having done CBRN training, it’s woefully amateur, but it keeps us aware and vigilant and it’s pretty much all we can do at the moment. I spent yesterday and today mopping everything with bleach, while mum hid upstairs. I had to go into town for a doctor’s appt and opted to cycle. The high streets were still full, but Buckingham Palace had only a handful of tourists. It was an eerily beautiful day on what will likely be one of my last outings. Poor baby yelled his head off every minute of being alone with my mum. They don’t know each other well yet and besides, I don’t want to risk bringing back infection any more than I have to. It’s such a new way of thinking. Before I would have suffered a bout of illness, if that’s what happened despite my best efforts, but now it’s other people’s lives on the line. We put an order in for shopping delivery online with one of the major supermarkets, but the first slot they had was in 12 days. We have enough until then, though. Following Boris’ first Covid broadcast, looks like we’ll be holed up for 3 months at least.

On the bright side, a lovely friend dropped off painkillers and cake today and noted my stressed hair and tired face while I took things from her in bright yello Marigolds. After a day of screaming baby, cycling more than I have done in over a year and cleaning top to toe - I bloody well needed that cake! Then we made friends with our new neighbours who gave us their numbers and promised to help get essentials. Oh, and also on the plus side - the baby weight is falling off.

[thecoviddiaries]

The state of Boots baby formula shelf - 15 March 2020

When my boyfriend needed to go abroad for four months to work, I decided that, instead of staying in a one-horse seaside town in northern Germany, I would move back to my home town of London and stay with my mum. It would be a great opportunity for her to bond with my new 8 month old son and also for me to reconnect with old friends, enjoy the culture I’d so sorely missed and also work on my naval reserve career after my maternity break. When we started our road trip, the little chap in the car seat and me madly singing “5 little ducks” when we hit traffic, Covid-19, or the Coronavirus, as it was more widely known then, was on the radar in Europe, but wasn’t an imminent danger. “It’s like the flu,” people told me. “Just exercise the same sort of hygiene you would in the winter cold season.”

But then more information came in. The virus attacked the respiratory system, making it extremely dangerous for people with underlying health issues. Old people were especially vulnerable. Then came the news that it was often symptomless at first and that children were a particular vector. I started taking my son’s temperature every day - all normal. Then came the news that children didn’t always have a fever. By then I was in London and with mum.

My mum is 73 and has a history of Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. She is terrified. I can’t stress that enough. People who say, “well, we’re all going to get it, might as well suffer through it” or “it only affects the elderly,” clearly don’t have any elderly relatives. Or maybe any hearts. Or brains. Just look at the news coming out of Italy. It’s not just the suffering, not just the threat of death. It’s the indignity of corpses being left to rot at home because funeral homes won’t take them. Now tell me it’s just “like the flu.”

Then there’s the threat of the hospitals being full - of doctors choosing who gets a respirator and who doesn’t. Who lives and who dies. Car crash? Sorry, no ICU available.

Then today, came the news that made me start this blog. The UK government - slow to action, dithering, evoking the Blitz spirit, while ignoring that 40k people died and picturing it as cosy sing songs down the Tube, announced that it would likely quarantine all people over 70.

Sounds simple, right? Just let them stay indoors for 3 months. They can get deliveries! This is the 21st century, after all. But what about their mental health? Or their technological skills? And do we really believe that the supply chain can support the sudden rush of online shopping? Are we going to disinfect each Amazon package? Who is going to help the infirm?

And then there’s people like me and baby, who live with the elderly. Are we quarantined too? Presumably yes. If not, suddenly every time I go out to feed my family, I run the risk of infecting them too.

So, I went out today to get a few supplies. Nothing crazy and certainly not stockpiling. In any case, I’m limited by what I can pack into a buggy and a rucksack, while baby sits in a sling (10kg of him, my poor back). I checked Sainsbury’s, Tesco, Marks and Spencer and Boots. No baby formula (besides the specialist reflux brands), no cleaning products, no painkillers and hardly any tinned goods.

Suddenly I felt the potential of the situation and the responsibility on me. I have to feed my family. I have to protect my family. I have to protect myself, because I’m all they have. I spent almost five years in Afghanistan and never felt so stressed as in that moment because it was only me I had to care about.

Something else I felt, and you might brush this off as paranoia, but over the years I’ve developed a sixth sense for this feeling - fear. Not unbridled horror, but a laughing, slightly hysterical nervousness among people. Queues were longer, people apologised to each other more, moved quickly, tried to laugh that yet another shop was out of pasta. I’m not saying we’re a breath away from rioting and JG Ballad type savagery, but that a tissue ply has been stripped.

I’m lucky. Even if I spend the next 3 months indoors, watching baby and mum like a hawk that they don’t fall and break something or give themselves food poisoning, I have friends, I have a small amount of savings. What about those people who are truly alone and/or in poverty?

Oh and to the hardware store in Chiswick that a) refused to help me get into the shop with my buggy, watching me wrestle with the door and then b) tried to charge £14.99 per tiny bottle of hand sanitiser (no problems with touching my hand or being in close contact then). FUCK YOU.

[thecoviddiaries]

Crying

He’s crying in your arms, sobs rack his body and shake your ribcage. There’s nothing you can do to make it better. The reproach in his cries get to you - why can’t mummy take the hurt away? Why won’t she take it away? He’s crying, louder, more panicked. You’re crying, heartbroken tears breaking through your impenetrable parent sheen of calm. You cry together in a symphony of wails. The ululations amplify each other in a wave of despair. It scares him and now he’s screaming, screeching, his whole body forcing out air and gulping it in, rasping across his already red raw throat. He’s frightened of you, you’re out of control. Your emotion is pure fear. He shrieks in terror. You pinch your arm and getting yourself under control. Something must work. Through tears and a broken voice you start to sing. “Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper...I...love..you.” You whisper-cry-sing the last line. His shrieks become cries, his cries become whimpers. You are mum again, whoever you may be to yourself, you are mum.

[thecoviddiaries]

Awake

My mind is sheet metal. Every thought scrapes across it setting my teeth on edge. Every creak from my partner’s drowsy stirrings, every breath and every movement of the house clenches my brain like a fist. “Not the baby, not the baby,” I repeat to myself. Next door have a newborn. It cries far more than mine, mewling through the wall of my bedroom. “Not mine, not mine, “ I reassure myself.

I must sleep. I must before the monitor’s electronic mimicking of my baby’s cries inevitably roars into life, green LEDs shooting into amber and red rainbows. I must sleep, before my body shocks into sinking, aching life, instinctively hearing with my nerves before the first cry comes. I. Must. Sleep. I block the thoughts of cries from my brain. Another worry pops up and another. I chase these intruders around in a game of whack-a-mole. The tinnitis in my ears clangs into a cruel mockery of a baby’s cry, so loud I fear I won’t be able to hear him when it finally comes. I cough to clear the ringing from my ears. The dry wheezing sounds alone and thin in the fizzing air. Sleep is a metal wire, a thrusting needle that pulls through me and is gone, leaving a smarting hole. My bones ache, I’m so heavy, I might fall through the fall into the flat below. They’ll bury me, still dusty in plaster, my hair matted and unbrushed for weeks. And still I won’t be able to rest. Still I’ll be waiting for all eternity for the baby monitor to erupt, to catapult me on lead-like feet to sob next to my son. Both of us grieving for a rest we cannot give each other.

[thecoviddiaries]

Sleep

I’m snatched from sleep by screaming. Was I dreaming about something? Not sure. No time to ponder, as I stumble to the baby’s room, picking him up and cradling his sobbing face into my shoulder. His tears wet my face. He quietens down, I put him down, he moans but falls silent, sleep taking him. I stumble back to my bed, tearing off my hoodie and plunging under the covers, trying to grab at sleep like a thin duvet. Willing myself under before I can wake up too much. I feel fizzy and sharp, like a metallic tone is piercing my brain. I’m not sure if I fall asleep, but suddenly there’s screaming again - am I awake or am I sleeping? I’m on my feet and moving, so I must be awake. I’m cradling my son, so I must be awake. He’s screaming worse than before, drawing back from my arms to look at me and bawl into my face. Even when he stops, it’s like a klaxon keeps going in my ears. Again, I’m back in my bed, again, I’m stumbling to his bedroom. The alarm in my ears never goes away. I jump at the slightest noise. Am I awake or am I asleep? He cries and cries, screaming, sobbing. I can’t hold my body up any more - my limbs are lead. I fall to my knees onto the carpet, still holding him and gently lie down, my arms around his body. Slowly he calms down, slowly he sleeps, uncomfortably on my wrists, his milk breath wafting into my face. Sleep no longer pulls at me like warm chocolate, it hits me over the head with a cosh and then flees at a moments notice, leaving me stiff and cold on the bedroom floor, trying to stifle my own sobs, so that my child might at least have the rest I can’t.

[thecoviddiaries]

Still the alien

I started writing this blog seven years ago, when I was living in the US. My American boyfriend at the time found it and took it as a personal insult to him and his country, so I stopped writing it. I stopped writing my diaries. I stopped writing at all. Then I found myself in another foreign country with another boyfriend and with a small baby. Still the alien, still strange and out of place.