The one positive that I’ve welcomed about COVID-19 is that it brought my husband home. No more long hours at the office. He still works long hours, they’re just upstairs. I can sleep in peace.

 

Remote working has allowed him to be much more involved in the day-to-day management and coordination of the children, especially school pick-up and dinner prep. It’s so appreciated and has made us better parents, a better family.

 

Today, about 10 minutes before 14:00, I went to his office to check if he was still ok to do the pick-up. I had asked him earlier if he could as I thought my 13:30 meeting would run over, but it was a quick one. He had something urgent to finish, so I let him know that I was free to do it.

 

Before I ran off, he mentioned, “There are some developments with the virus, we’re going to have to chat about the holiday”. Yeah, I know there are developments, the fourth wave has long been predicted. I’ve been watching the numbers. We’ll chat later, I say.

 

As I jump into the car, the 14:00 news bulletin starts. “Breaking news, a new COVID-19 variant has been detected in South Africa…” and the rest is a blur. I was not expecting that.

 

Damn you, Coronavirus. Just as I was winding down my work year. Kids are set to finish school next week. I could almost smell the East Coast, feel my hair frizz in the humidity. All I feel now is tension. My shoulders automatically reaching my ears. That familiar ache in the back and the headache. Oh, the headache.

 

COVID-19 doesn’t know when to stop.  

 

This makes the past couple of days spent at Sandton Clinic, nursing my 8-year old’s concussion and an ear and eye infection, feel like child’s play. Talk about levels. Master T’s traumatic episode had a start and an end. Thank God. COVID-19 doesn’t know when to stop.

 

Here’s the thing. Our family has maintained a consistent level of socialising since the first iteration of lockdown. It’s largely been us at home, with food, medical, and essentials foraging our mainstay activity outside. Then when it was allowed, the kids went back to school, and some work meetings, the occasional restaurant outing. More recently, we’ve slowly started extending ourselves in small groups of largely vaccinated folk.

 

I see. We’ve been the idiots isolating ourselves.

 

The largest group we’ve been in, since the outbreak and after vaccination, was at Master T’s 8th birthday party a few weeks back with around 10 adults and 10 children, outdoors. At Level 1 lockdown, our present status, Chief Daddy allows up to “750 persons or less for indoor venues and 2 000 persons or less for outdoor venues” with some conditions, for “all faith-based or religious gatherings and social, political and cultural gatherings”. I see. We’ve been the idiots isolating ourselves.

 

And we know that the electioneering that culminated with voting on 1 November took full advantage of those gathering allocations and, in many instances, abused them. But what’s new? Our ‘leaders’ continually set the bar so low that everyone jumps over it. There’s a new variant, people. And we’re in trouble.

 

What is our fate in the coming weeks? I have no idea. But I know that I will not be watching the “Fellow South Africans” miniseries, I’ll get the highlights from Whatsapp status. My contacts are on the button. Every time. Thank you, dear hearts.

 

I’m vaccinated and still feeling exposed and vulnerable. I can’t imagine going into this next wave without it. It’s not too late…