Covid-19 Diaries - Lockdown Day 3

To spend the lockdown in pyjamas or to dress up? 

That's the topic on my Mums Whatsapp Group on the morning of Day 3 of lockdown in Mallorca. One mum says she's going to wear a dress to celebrate the news that the hefty monthly payment for freelancers, (a fee you have to pay regardless of whether you've earned anything during the month), will almost certainly be suspended.

In Spain we're taking some comfort from being in the same sinking economic ship. Meanwhile in UK, the government approach is to recommend social isolation rather than impose it, thereby shifting the financial responsibility to each individual and business as if it were their own decision to shut down. Macron sounds more supportive in France, declaring suspensions of rents, mortgages, service charges and so on.

At 9 am, I'm in pyjamas not a dress, and I'm not thinking about the economy. I'm on the floor attacking a cardboard Amazon delivery box with a pair of scissors. What used to be rubbish has now become an invitation to be creative. I'm making a rudimentary farmhouse for my daughter Sol. I cut out windows, a door, make a table, individual plates for the Flamingo, Camel and Zebra, and put up a partition for the Polar Bear's toilet all in the time it takes my husband to have a shower.

Next, I try some yoga. I have been feeling the same anxiety I used to feel when I lived in London. It's like I've stopped in the middle of a sit-up. My stomach is taut and I can't let go. 

It's only Day 3 but there's a voice in my head saying I don't want to do this, that I can't do this. I want to shout it out loud: I THOUGHT I WAS MENTALLY RESILIENT BUT I'M NOT! I'M WEAK!

One of the mums tells us that they have visitors over who haven't been able to leave the island. That means there are five adults and two children under the age of 2 facing lockdown in a two-bedroom apartment. When my friend calls the German embassy to find out what they can do, they are told that, since they live on the island surely the guests can continue staying with them. The woman must imagine they are living in a luxury villa.

Her situation puts things into perspective. I am fine. It's all going to be fine. It's only Day 3 for god's sake. Before having a baby I would have welcomed two weeks at home to finish whatever novel I was writing. In fact I used to live like there was a corona virus outbreak, only leaving the house when there were no more lentils or tinned tuna left. But now, now that I am supposed to stay inside, I want to go out.

But I'm not going out. Not yet. We have supplies for the week. The thing is, at first I thought that I could just go to the supermarket each day and it would all be easy. But actually the point is there is a real risk each time you're in contact with other people and places, so it's not about getting around the system, it's about staying safe. Today, on our small island, there were 18 more positive cases confirmed. They have finally stopped international flights and reduced flights from the mainland to returning residents.

Eventually I'm able to focus on some work. My husband, Mr Calm, plays with Sol. My brother writes a beautiful story about the lockdown from the point of view of his new adopted puppy which brings me to tears. 

In the afternoon my husband tells me that the canals in Venice are becoming clearer and wildlife is returning. It gives me hope that something good can come out of this.

At night, I recite The Hungry Caterpillar to Sol from memory as I'm putting her to sleep. Do you know it? It's about a tiny, hungry caterpillar which eats every day for a whole week and then makes a cocoon around itself. After two weeks it emerges as a beautiful butterfly.

It makes me think, how perhaps, after two weeks with ourselves, we might emerge transformed too. We have been consuming and consuming and now we have to stop. 

Maybe in this time we will have life-changing thoughts. We might emerge more beautiful because we have come to appreciate the little things, the things that matter.

Thanks for reading. You can find me on my Facebook Author Page or on Instagram.  

Covid-19 Diaries - Lockdown Day 2

Lockdown in Spain. At least the food is good.  

We woke up on Day 2 of lockdown to a rainy Mallorca. There was a sense of mild relief among the mums on my Whatsapp group. Bad weather was an easy explanation to give to their young children who didn't understand why they weren't going out again.

Not being able to explain to Sol why we aren't going to the park or meeting up with her friends is the hardest part. She asked after her little friend today. "Gabel?" she said, her brow scrunched up and her little palms open in question. "Gabel?" 

She's too little to even pronounce his name properly (Gabriel), but her face lights up when she sees him, and they have so much fun together. He only lives twenty minutes walk away but we won't be seeing him or anybody for who knows how long.

12 days doesn't sound so bad... but what if they ended up needing us to stay home longer? I don't entertain dark thoughts as a rule, but I do find getting to sleep has become difficult. My mind races.

Back to this morning. I paced up and down in front the glass door to our terrace looking out at the white sky and I was reminded of animals I'd seen at the zoo. I thought, HOW DARE WE! HOW DARE WE LOCK ANIMALS AWAY!

My husband, who once again fell asleep within minutes last night, initiated our morning dance session. We opted for Latin and Reggae. Our 21 month old embraced it wholeheartedly, waving her arms about and doing some great squats. Our dance morphed into an energetic work out. "Knees higher! Higher!" shouted my husband, as we marched around in circles on our square of astroturf, which we had bought instead of normal carpet.

Our day proceeded much like an ordinary rainy day. My husband has no work, but luckily I still have assignments for abcMagazine which I can get on with. He kept Sol entertained while I wrote. Thanks to a toy exchange with my friend at our last supper pre-lockdown, we have acquired a dolly buggy which Sol has enjoyed all day. 

My mums' whatsapp group was busy as mum's showcased their creativity. A lockdown is a real test of character and I felt full of admiration for some of the mums who were being so resourceful and upbeat. Some people have more room than others. But whatever space they had they were making the best out of it: from building ramps, making costumes, inventing motor skill exercises with egg boxes and cotton buds and baking.

Room, space... Nothing like a lockdown to make you think about how unequally land is divided in our society. On the streets behind us our large mansions with big gardens. These are mostly unoccupied holiday homes belonging to people who rarely visit. Imagine how wonderful that space would be to all those families in lockdown in small flats with no outdoor area.

I'm grateful for our terrace. I'm grateful for a long corridor which is perfect for a little person on a tricycle. I'm grateful I have the keys to my neighbour's flat which she says I can use if we start to feel claustrophobic!

Never has a terrace, or balcony, been so important.  Thanks to balconies people are uniting in solidarity. In Alicante my brother and another neighbour from the apartment complex have been Djing from their respective balconies from 6-7pm. People on neighbouring terraces have been coming out to dance. 

In Barcelona, a video captures a keyboardist playing Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On from Titanic from his balcony and a trumpeter accompanying from another balcony. It's moments like these that bring tears to your eyes and makes you realise HUMANS HAVE THE POTENTIAL TO BE AMAZING. 

Let's show the world how amazing we can be during these difficult times ahead. Let's dig deep and find every scrap of imagination, creativity, inventiveness, heart, passion, compassion and strength for now - and for our lives to come.

You can also find me on my Facebook Emily Benet Author Page. 

    

Covid-19 Diaries - Lock down Begins

No rush to get out of bed. We ain't going nowhere.

After I posted my blogyesterday (Saturday), I listened to the Spain's president announce that the country was going into lockdown for 14 days.

What does this mean?

No one can leave their home unless for the following reasons:

1. Acquisition of food and medicine

2. Access to healthcare centres

3. Travelling to work (the few that still have jobs, these are economically disastrous times)

4. Return journey to residence

5. Walking a pet

Among my whatsapp groups there was confusion over when the lockdown was starting. Tonight? Monday?

If you could walk a dog, did that mean you could also walk a toddler? And if not, where would I be able to buy a dog from if we were only allowed to buy food and medicine?

- Dad, I'm hot...
- Shut up, we're going out to the street!

My calm husband fell asleep straight away that night. Meanwhile my mind was overwhelmed by a million different scenarios. Imagine facing lockdown with a partner you were about to leave? Imagine lockdown in a tiny flat with four kids?

In the morning I learnt that walks in the mountain or beach were not allowed. The dream of having a dog faded too as my brother in Alicante announced the police had stopped him and his wife as they were working their pup. 1. They were only to take out the dog for efficient walks to do its necessities 2. They were not supposed to be out together

That's the thing. Trips to the shops or to walk your dog must be done alone. One family member at a time.

Remember that chicken we ordered in my first entry? Well, we bought it because we had friends coming over. The same friends we had agreed to become 'exclusive' with during these contagious times. They were coming over because they'd had a leak in the kitchen and a builder had taken up the floor. The idea was they would eat with us while the builder fixed it.

I confess, our friends came over to have a meal despite the lock down. We didn't embrace. We washed our hands. It was like a last supper. Our toddlers laughed and played and had the best time ever. We chatted and chatted and chatted, knowing we wouldn't meet for a while.

From tomorrow there will be fines for anyone caught not following the rules. I guess it's the only way to keep everyone in order. In the end it's for the greater good and I'm pleased action is being taken. In fact, I'm trying not to worry about the lack of measures in place in UK where my parents are. They assure me they are staying inside.

Gallows humour is in full swing and there are a lot of funny memes going around, mostly involving toilet paper. Today one was a questionnaire:

How will you be at the end of this quarantine?

A) 10kg overweight

B) Pregnant

C) Alcoholic

D) Divorced

E) All answers are correct

Hahaha... oh sh*t.

This morning my husband got annoyed with me for not returning the washing up sponge to its home in the sponge holder. Not once, but three times he told me off. I suddenly felt so furious that he was annoyed about such a stupid thing. I wanted to tear the sponge up and jump up and down on the sponge holder.

At the same time I also thought: What's wrong with you, Emily? Why don't you just return the bloody sponge to the holder?

I reasoned that I didn't put it away because the washing up was never ending. The real reason though is because I'm thinking and not paying attention to what I'm doing. There are so many thoughts going through my mind all the time because of this incredible new reality. I AM NOT ALLOWED TO LEAVE MY FLAT.  

This sponge is going to provide a wonderful exercise in doing things more consciously.

There is nowhere to go. Every detail of the day is to be lived fully.

If I can stay mindful, every book I read to my toddler will feel like the first time I've read it. Every game as fun as it was that first time we invented it.

I will taste every meal.

I will stand outside on my 8 metre square terrace and be grateful we have some outdoor space and we have trees in the distance and one day, when life has returned to normal, we will value it all even more.

You can also find me on my Facebook Emily Benet Author Page. 

Covid-19 Diaries - entry 1

Self-isolating in the hills

They cordoned off the kids' park while we were having lunch. Our terrace overlooks it so we had a good view as the red and white tape went up.

Were they cleaning it? Repainting the climbing frame? If only. We knew the real reason without needing to be told. There had already been mention of swings spreading the virus; so many small hand holding on, so many big ones pushing those little seats to the command of higher, higher!

My stomach twisted. It felt so surreal. I hadn't even heard of coronavirus until about a month ago. "Where have you been?" my mum asked me, when I mentioned it after finally reading a newspaper.

The first to test positive with the virus in Mallorca was a British tourist on 9th February. He responsibly admitted himself to hospital because he had been in contact with a friend who had tested positive in France. Today there are 44 infected, 18 of which were confirmed today.

People have been panic buying in supermarkets despite the Balearic government's assurance that supplies will keep arriving by boat. I overheard that a big store was being guarded by armed Guardia Civil. Photos online show empty shelves. Already the greed is showing as people try to sell hand sanitser for quadruple of the price.

"They're being so stupid. The meat is from the island!" the frustrated butcher at our local supermarket chain said. He was tired after working seven days in a row - with no day off in sight - and angry with the lack of respect and aggressiveness of the shoppers. Since my husband always has time to chat to the staff, they'd kept his chicken order. If he hadn't made that human connection, they might have given it to someone else.

On Wednesday, the Balearic health ministry announced a ban for cultural and social events for over 1000 people. After a month researching and writing up events for abcMallorca magazine, I was tasked to write cancellation notices.

On Thursday there were rumours that schools and nurseries were going to be closed. Our 

daughter, Sol, doesn't go to nursery but she does have a playgroup on Thursdays. I felt too embarrassed to admit to the playgroup Whatsapp group that I wasn't going to take her because of coronovirus, but we decided it was for the best. I stopped feeling embarrassed as schools and nurseries were officially closed and official bodies began advising citizens to stay at home. It's advice which we feel is wise and necessary, and we are going to be keeping ourselves to ourselves.... 

Well, almost.

"If you guys are ready to take our relationship to the next level, we are prepared to become exclusive with you over the next two weeks!" my friend text me. We've agreed. They also have a toddler, so that works well.

On Friday, the Spanish government declared a state of emergency. How did the news make me feel? Light-headed? A little. 

These are such strange and uncertain times and, as a writer, I feel compelled to record them.

You can also find me on Facebook Emily Benet Author

Be the Change 2020 - Let's have a go!

I've been pondering and I've come to the conclusion that what I really want is a happy, creative and meaningful life.

There are a lot of dreamy quotes out there to kick off a moment of reflection, but I rather like:

Be the change you want to see in the world.

I want to see supermarkets where the food isn't embalmed in plastic. That means not buying at the ones which do. I've cracked buying fruit and vegetables without packaging, but I think I can do better. This year I'm going to double my efforts to shop in farmer's markets and eco-friendly supermarkets which also sell grains and pulses loose. I also could do better about buying dairy products in card or glass, rather than plastic. I'm going to be bolder about bringing my own containers and plan ahead more.

I want to see a world where people exercise their power as consumers in favour of the environment and equality. I don't want to invest in a fast fashion industry which traps its workers in poverty and pollutes their homes. This 2020 I aim to only buy second-hand clothing, or those locally-made, or crafted in a way that isn't harmful to the environment. I bought some of my favourite items last year from my local Allen Graham Charity 4Kids, so I'm actually relishing the challenge of being a creative and thrifty shopper.

I want to see the kids around me caring about the planet enough to not throw their litter on the street. I have a now not-so-secret-desire to finish an fun, animal-packed children's book I've been working on with a cute message about our heart and nature's song being one and the same.

Oh, and one more thing:

I want to see more of my novels in the world! ...Because I LOVE writing them, and some of you have told me you have loved reading them! 

So - as well as, erm, trying to be a kinder, more conscientious person - this summer I'll be launching my next contemporary novel, called  MELTING POINT - and no, don't worry, it has nothing to do with climate change! I'll keep you posted...

For more regular updates, you're very welcome to follow my Facebook Author Page.

Perfect Parenting

Ha, made you look. There's no such thing as perfect parenting, silly billy. 

I've come to the conclusion that parenting is mostly about putting another human being to sleep. We're basically a really rubbish kind of chloroform. Rubbish because we're not very efficient.

Above: Unsuccessful putting to sleep of a baby. Note, baby has grabbed aircon control. 

I spend at least two hours a day putting my little human to sleep. It's even worse when she's under the weather. I've got a blister on my nipple from my little human not wanting to let go of me. She used to be fine. Feed, feed, feed, bye mum. Nowadays she clings on to me like wet sand.

She'll be snoring in my arms, and I'll lean over the cot to lower her down, and she'll wake up enough to dig her talons (cutting toddler's nails is hard!), clutching me like a bald eagle would a defenceless lamb. I'm the defenceless lamb bleating mournfully, "please let me go, I need to wash the dishes!"

Someone said she's clingy because she's intuiting I'm not going to be breastfeeding her much longer. That's news to me. I haven't formulated that intention, so I think what that person really means to say is: I don't think you should STILL be breastfeeding!  

Judgment is rife in parenting. I don't get involved.  I mean, you're all doing it wrong. I'm obviously nailing it. I've got a nipple blister to prove it. It's basically the official badge of the mothering elite.

Oh dear, there's going to be someone who takes this seriously. I can hear their voice: Oh, so you think you're better because you breastfeed blablabla... No. I wanted to avoid having to get up in the middle of the night to make a bottle and worse, to then have to wash the bottle. And dry the bottle. You know when you put Tupperware in the dishwasher.... isn't it so annoying how it always comes out so, so wet? I imagine that's the same with bottles. I could be wrong.  

Anyway, lighten up. What's your problem? Didn't your baby sleep?

Oh, they didn't? Fair enough.

I promised my best friend that I wouldn't get boring when I had a baby. I've broken that promise. I'm blogging about napping.  God bless everyone who has twins. May you always remember where you put your house keys, and have them to hand when you're juggling two babies at the front door.

Right. It's 9.26pm. I've got hours of sleep to catch up on. Good night!

Check out my latest book The Pregnancy Diaries - a personal and positive account of pregnancy and childbirth. Available in ebook and paperback!

Terrible news for a writer mum...

My typing wakes up the baby.

Hoover is fine. Leaf-blowing is fine. Revving up a motorbike repeatedly (I hate you, whoever you are) is fine.

Typing, not fine.

When I was eight months pregnant, we moved to the flat next door. It had one more room, which became my office. An office beside the baby's room. Perfect. A sunny, cool, uncluttered room where I could snatch moments to write while my little one snored softly in her crib next door.

I typed like mad while I was pregnant. I wanted to finish my novel before my due date. Perhaps the sound now reminds my baby of humbler times, when she lived in a cramped flat and survived on a liquid diet.  

"What are you doing out here?" my husband said, when he discovered me writing on the terrace one early morning, "you have a wonderful office now."

I thought of my big white desk, my notebooks within reach, my selection of biros, my view of the pine trees. Was my typing really waking her up? Or, was I just being paranoid?

I returned to my office and began to type:

C-H-A -(I heard a stirring...) P-T-E-R ( faint mewling) O-N-E (loud cry)

I stopped typing. Silence. 

I picked up my laptop, charger, notebook, biro, phone, cup of tea and tiptoed down the corridor, passed her room and out onto the terrace. The cicadas buzzed, the leaf-blower grumbled, the motorbike revved, baby snored, I typed and all was well in the world again. When it comes to writing dreams and babies, you have to adapt to survive!

_____

Pregnant and looking for a positive account of pregnancy and childbirth? Check out the diary I kept while I was pregnant! It's available from Amazon.