Groundhog Day

Every day since March 16, 2020 has been some version of the same. I never know what day it is. It feels like I'm in the midst of the early 90's classic (by some standards) Groundhog Day where the same day is lived over and over again repeatedly. Below is a series of photos of our day in the life of the COVID-19 pandemic. This could be us at any given point of any day, as each day is almost exactly as the one before.

I wake up when the light shines in. We don't close our curtains. It tells us when to wake up. 
(real talk: I debate whether or not to just close my eyes again)

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The morning shift starts. Dad is on breakfast duty. Carson is on eating duty. 
(and Mom models unsafe behavior by standing on the chair in the name of photography)

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"Me time". I sit in the bathroom with my hot coffee while the shower warms up. To be honest, a bit longer than just waiting for the shower to warm up. I cherish this ten minutes each day.
(to inquiring minds: no pooping was occurring during this photo)

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I have a conversation with my (clean) self.
"Self... can we do this today?"
"I think so."
"Wait, maybe not."
"Well, if they are doing it, I can do it too."
"But I just have so much to do."
"Okay, one more cup of coffee should do it."

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I relieve Dad and start the next phase of morning routine. I hold my breath for cooperation.
(don't let this photo fool you. our mornings typically look like I'm wrestling an alligator)

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Then I dared to walk away—to do something other than be within five feet of my baby. The angry tears crawled after me.
(and of course, all fine the second he was scooped up) 

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The morning commute. Take a seat. Get centered. Go.
(with the first half hour of the workday spent online shopping, of course)

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I do things. I sit in meetings. I see patients. 
(all while consuming entirely too much caffeine)

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 We go on walks. Breathe in the fresh air. Chase the sunset. Try to feel normal.
(even if we only make it a few blocks—hey, we tried)

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Then the coffee turns to wine as the day turns to night.
(or maybe a little earlier—depending on how the day is going)

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The bedtime ritual begins with bath time.
​(and more wine)

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The day concludes. Sleepy smiles ensue. My favorite moments.
(in the midst of the craziness of COVID-19, silent struggles and silver linings, I've found the most solace in going where the light is not. that is, holding my son for just a few minutes longer in his dark bedroom after he falls asleep; breathing in every little drop. remembering to soak in every bit of light I can during this dark time)

This post was written as part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to read the next post in this series "Go Where the Light Is".