A confined woman´s diary
The life I used to know no longer exists. Today, April 20, 2020, is my 37th day of confinement. And I have three more weeks left. In Spain, we have already had 20,852 deaths from coronavirus.
Now I wake up an hour and a half later than usual, I have the same breakfast – toasts with turkey and orange juice – and I get down to work: scrubber, vacuum cleaner, mop and washing machine. I think I’ve put too much Mr. Clean product. The bucket is full of foam.
At mid-morning, I fall down exhausted on the chair of the office we have at home (always at home). I answer the few e-mails that I receive in my inbox with phrases like “take care” or “stay safe”, and I wait for my husband to announce that the food is ready. Yes, he is in charge of the kitchen (or the microwave).
I just did my grocery shopping on the phone. I don’t dare to go out for it anymore. The street has turned into a minefield and the way home feels like hell: shoes off, clothes in the washing machine, shower and disinfection of all the products that come with me.
So the excuse of being pregnant made me shut myself at home even more and enjoy the book Tell me who I am by Julia Navarro, when I’m not “activating glutes” in the virtual classes of @ffitcoco.
Against all odds, these days I’m looking at the weather more than ever. A morning on my terrace gives me the life and the vitamin D I need. Besides, I refuse to arrive at August white as paper and with a huge belly. Some things will never change.