Lockdown. We’re all in it and going minute-by-minute crazy. Sure, it’s not all bad. Those moments in the sunshine. The walks, the giggles when you get a moment between cleaning and Teams or Zoom meetings to really look at their little faces and connect.

However, those moments are hazy, layered with the ongoing monotony of full-time all the time caring. Currently one of mine is screaming ‘my nappy is stupid; it is falling down’ (she’s 2) the other is singing ‘it’s not stupid at the top of his lungs.’ The other day the two-year-old demanded ‘I want my bottle fuck’.

Yes, my 2-year-old now says fuck. At least it’s not really in context, right?

Between slime in hair, a full tub of Greek yogurt dumped on a bed and my desk covered in scribbles or ‘art’, my fingernails are starting to feel raw from clinging to the ledge.

Meanwhile, I’m working at night. The time when I am me, not work, not mum, not cleaner is when I turn my mind to my ‘day job’. When and how then, you ask are you writing this? I am writing this as they are watching YouTube. I feel like the mother of the year.

Did anyone else feel the first lockdown was our honeymoon and this is the period after the 7-year itch? Covid – we need a divorce.

Seriously though, we are living through a pandemic. We’d thought we were on the other side, and we’ve been sucked back into the year we all wanted to leave behind.

The one thing we can do…. Be gentle with ourselves and realise that our children’s emotions matter more than work. So, keep routines, keep doing the exercises, keep writing, keep saying fuck (it won’t kill them), and aim for more connection, more togetherness. Because, by-golly, together is the only way we’re getting through this with our children intact.