Not Roaming Anywhere Anytime Soon

All my life, whenever my world has changed, it’s changed quickly.

I met Emmett that way, in a flash.

I moved to New York that way too, so suddenly that I had to spend a month without Emmett in corporate housing while he packed up our life in Toronto.

We even had Finnegan quickly, via emergency c-section. Just like that, he was there.

Coronavirus is no different. Just like that, it’s here. This virus has rapidly changed how we live, colonized my imagination, and implanted a kernel of fear deep in my brain. My mind is so full of COVID-19 factoids and memes and disturbing statistics that there’s precious little room for anything else. I nod my way through whole conversations with Emmett, not hearing a thing. I start emails and leave them languishing for hours. I try to offer positive, supportive words to the young women who work for me, all while doing the mental math on the number of ventilators in American ICUs. In short, I worry.

And yet, the cadence of our life is perhaps less impacted than most.

Emmett has always stayed home with Finnegan, and so their slide from everyday life into social distancing has been a difference of degree. Fewer trips to the grocery store. A pause on both physical and speech therapy. No touching the play equipment at the park. I doubt Finnegan notices the change at all – he’s the same happy, funny boy as he was in more innocent times. He’s also, as I’m painfully aware, a boy with significant underlying respiratory issues, and it’s that fact that puts a damper on the whole ‘kids only get mild cases’ theory.

For me, life under quarantine is different than I imagined. Two years ago, when I was pregnant and desperate to stay that way, I spent months working from home. Time slowed down. I dialed into conference calls lying supine. I wore the same uniform of sweatshirts and stretch pants 24/7. I lost touch with my professional self.

But it’s different now, when nobody else is in the office either. My agency closed last Wednesday, and life ever since has been a constellation of crashing Skype calls, live-editing Google docs, and my phone blowing up with the never-ending beeps of Microsoft Teams. Every day, I set up a makeshift “desk” on the bed I now realize is far too soft. I get dressed and put on makeup for the gaze of my webcam. I meet my co-workers’ dogs when they jump into frame and see their significant others walk through the background. Several of those co-workers have de-camped for less densely populated corners of the country, and so I also see snatches of classic Cape Cod architecture and Knoxville mountains. It’s all lovely and humanizing and also profoundly strange.

I feel – when the clouds of my fear for Finnegan briefly part – like we’re lucky. We’re healthy. We don’t have to go out much. We’re spending more time together. Our losses – missed events, lessened freedom, and a cancelled three-week Eurotrip during which we would have introduced Finnegan to the wonders of Portugal, Ireland, Italy, and France – are nothing compared to what others are weathering. I hope luck stays on our side.

I hope it stays on your side too. Stay safe and warm and hug your people tight. Sending love your way.