We’re in our fourth Saturday in a row of covid testing and quarantine. I’m a bit over it. Daycare / school bugs caught us the last three weeks and now, it seems we may have crossed paths with someone with the omicron variant. And so we wait, again — this time, with the knowledge that the police car we’ve seen drive past our house twice today is most likely in the neighbourhood to check on us.
Don’t get me wrong — I am grateful that we all feel well, that we are in a place where vaccination rates are high, and that we are waiting for test results that are most likely to be negative. I also feel for the person that got sick and is now probably not only feeling physically ill but also torn up about their unwitting role in the spread of a variant that’s shaping up to be highly infectious. I can imagine being in their shoes — having a coffee in the local shop with a friend, only to The situation continues to be sh*t, to be honest. I wish I could tell my daughter something different when she asks when covid will end, because telling her it won’t, that we’ll just have to get used to living with it, is simultaneously true and painful.
I know the rest of the world has already been through the grieving process, and this whole post is the equivalent of a toddler tantrum. I’m tired, it’s not even that late, and I don’t know what tomorrow will bring — but who does? We are and continue to be lucky, we have a safe space with outdoor areas to quarantine in, and if we do get sick this time, well, that’s statistics for you. Sometimes we’re not going to win, and if that’s our lot this week, so be it. To be honest, there’s a piece of me that wonders if it’d be a relief to get it already — at least (after recovery, fingers crossed) we’d be able to let our guard down for a while. After all, we’re going to get it at some point. Pretty much everyone will.
So let’s see what tomorrow brings, shall we?