Updated: Aug. 21, 2023
Originally Published: March 1, 2011
It’s day five of my self-imposed isolation. Through the snot-streaked windows, the outside world looks so inviting. I sit and watch my phone, wishing for it to buzz or ring. Please, let someone remember me during this bleak time. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve forgotten how to converse. Will my friends recognize me at preschool once I’m finally free? I can’t even picture the face of my favorite barista. My home has become a prison, where I endlessly repeat the same chores: laundry, dishes, diapers, dinner… rinse and repeat.
In my mind, I’m still living the vibrant life I had before the flu took over. I imagine strolling through Target with my baby while my older child is at preschool. I picture coffee dates with my mom friends or lunch gatherings at their homes. I’d happily drive miles just to keep the boys asleep a little longer. It was a blissful existence I enjoyed before flu season hit.
But all it took was one cough from a classmate, one careless handshake, or a loving kiss from a grandparent to shatter that world. Now, I’m stuck in a reality where I can’t wear anything that isn’t crusted with bodily fluids. But I tell my baby, “Don’t cry. I know throwing up is scary, but it’s alright. You don’t need to worry, my little sick one.” I was missing the laundry room anyway.
The baby’s cries and coughs remind me that the end of this tunnel is still days away. Today, I must find my inner peace amid a barrage of animated train shows and moralistic puppets. Acceptance is essential in this phase of confinement. I’m not going to battle today; lofty goals like showering or eating breakfast will have to wait. I’ll let time pass however it wishes.
One day, I’ll demand something more than chicken nuggets for lunch. I’ll create educational experiences and turn off the claymation farm animals. But today is not that day. For now, I’ll take a moment to pray for healing, long nap times, and that my husband surprises me with something special just for me.
When the sun rises on Monday morning, I’ll re-enter society. I’ll embrace the fresh air with a smile and a fresh batch of sidewalk chalk—or something. My phone will be in hand, ready to text everyone I know to celebrate the day together. Until the next sneeze, cough, or until my husband falls victim to the flu.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the challenges of navigating flu season while parenting young children. The author humorously captures the isolation, repetitive household chores, and longing for social interaction, all while expressing hope for recovery and a return to normalcy.