Since the evening of March 28, I've been self-isolating myself in my bedroom, away from Hannah and Lucía, per the orders of the embassy doctor. For the past six days, I've spent all of my time behind this closed door, only exiting in a mask and gloves to prepare food in the kitchen, which I then bring back and eat here in the room.
It says something about the extraordinary times that we've living in that my situation is not unique, even just within the circle of friends, co-workers and acquaintances that I know. This could have easily been a more jail-like experience, but our bedroom is nice - Hannah has great decorating instincts, and I've been pretty preoccupied with both work and then improving this blog.
I try to change it up - sometimes I sit on a stool in the corner, or stand and play the ukulele - but the vast majority of my day, and night, are spent sitting on this bed in front of this computer. I can feel my muscles atrophying like an astronaut who has been too long in space.
Every day at 6:30pm, Hannah takes a newly bathed Lucía to my door and I play them both a song on the ukulele. At 8:00pm, Hannah and I clap out of separate windows. These are the two daily events that punctuate a long blur of work emails, spreadsheets, and whatever else I'm doing to pass the day.
Hannah has surprised me with her patience and her ability to step up to the challenge. She is being an amazing mom, slowly feeding Lucía more food, entertaining and educating her, walking Yogi, and preparing food for everyone except for me (and sometimes even for me). She truly is amazing and weeks like this make me remember even more why I love the strong person that she is.
Me, on the other hand, I'm just trying to motivate myself to shower more often.