And so, it begins. Countdown to getting back to a bit of normality. Here in the UK, final lift-off is set for 21 June 21; the day we emerge cautiously blinking into a freedom we haven’t experienced for a while. As we tiptoe back out there, finding our feet again, we are all going to be wary, even scared. What will the new normal look like? Will people still huddle in their bubbles afraid to mix and mingle like we used to? Will shops still have plastic shields at the checkouts and require us to queue outside in an orderly fashion if numbers inside exceed the required safety level? Will we still have to wear masks on planes, trains and buses? Will my hairdresser peer at me from under her plastic shield? What about all the yellow and black striped signs with the words ‘Hands. Face. Space’ or other familiar health warning mantras – will they be covered up with posters and billboards announcing new Netflix shows and adverts? Will their message just fade away? Will the 2m lines painted on floors just blend into the décor?
Like thousands of parents, I eagerly await the first stage of countdown which launches on Monday 8th March. The day the children go back into their classrooms, compare lockdown hair and crack on with their lives. This is probably the longest my two have gone without wearing smart shoes and shirts, and certainly the longest they have gone without having to rush their breakfast ready to jump in a car at 7.45am. How on earth are we going to manage the early rise, the regimented routine, the commute up and down the A14? Urgh – I am going to have to get back into ironing the school uniform again – and washing all that damn sports kit. I’ve got to get used to traffic jams again and waiting in the car at school pick-ups, getting just a sullen grunt when I ask how the day at school went. I must admit, I have mixed feelings about all of this. They need to go back. I need them to go back, but the house is going to be deathly quiet. And as much as I need to crack on with my own work without being interrupted a billion times by the boys - I’m going to miss them. I’m going to miss their banter and jokes; the way they take the pee out of me; their giggles, their noise and their smells. I’m going to miss the way they surface from their desks in-between lessons and wander into the kitchen, open the fridge or pantry cupboard, stare for a bit, grab a snack, leaving a trail of crumbs in their wake for the dog to follow. I am going to miss their usefulness – the days I have a lot of work on they are on hand to empty dishwashers, light the wood burner or put washing away. I am going to miss having company on afternoon dog walks on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the dog is definitely going to miss the attention and belly rubs she has grown accustomed to. Having them around has been comforting. I’ve felt motherly and protective. They have been safe. It is just dawning on me that finally our little bubble is about to burst and I’m going to have to get used to being on my own again.
I am glad this countdown in gradual. I am not sure I would be ready if we were suddenly propelled into Real Life any quicker. I have gotten used to the slower pace of life. I am still incredibly busy, juggling a fulltime job with family – but without daily school runs and after school commitments – I have felt less overwhelmed as the pressure is off to perform. I really do not miss standing shivering on the side of a rugby pitch making small talk; nor do I miss the weekends spent driving from one end of the county to the other as mum’s taxi, either taking the boys to sports fixtures or collecting them from overnight stays or late-night parties. Going back to normal is going to put the mockers on my Saturday night social date with my husband, cosied up with a glass of red and an episode or two of a recent Scandi drama. And as much as I love the social contact of my friends - whom I miss dearly and can’t wait to wrap my arms around again and give them a huge, huge squeeze – knowing there aren’t any immediate social functions means I can go another week without worrying about my unruly, scarecrow, greying hair - sticking on a beanie instead.
I try and think about how I will feel the next time I have to go on an airplane for a work trip or holiday. Will it feel safe? Even if vaccinated and masked – how can we ensure our thirst for adventure to far flung places isn’t going to be marred by new virus variants we may encounter. Will it just become the norm to accept that like malaria or yellow fever, certain hot spots in the world will come with their own health warning? But it isn’t so much the safety aspect that bothers me – spending so long without being in a crowd or mixing in close proximity with strangers has become normal. How am I going to react if someone reaches past me in a supermarket; or stands too close in a queue? Even now, if I watch a programme on TV filmed pre-COVID, it looks bizarre how we used to accept each other’s space, hugging, shaking hands - readily sharing germs and spittle. You can see how easily the virus managed to spread, how it relied on the fact that human beings need close contact – the social animals we are. Will I ever be ready for crowds in a pub, or at a concert? Will I ever feel comfortable being pressed into the armpit of a stranger on a commuter packed tube? Will I ever greet a work colleague with a handshake again?
Countdown has begun. And I so want to be ready for this and wave my insecurities away. I really do want to sit in a crowded restaurant, queue outside the ladies at the theatre or wander around busy seaside towns, nipping into quaint little shops without worrying if I am going to pick up COVID. I can’t wait to take off my mask in a shop and pull a face at a baby or smile at a fellow shopper, without fear of being judged for not having adequate facial protection. I long to visit my parents or have my siblings to stay overnight without worrying about laws on family households, or the Rules of Six. I want to dance like an idiot at a party or even just round a friend’s kitchen without caring if my hugs and kisses are contagious.
Will the trepidation and fear I feel disappear? Will normal forever be marred by the restrictions we have quickly grown used to? Or will we all just get on with it, and hope as we all move on, that these strange old times the whole world experienced together will slowly fade into memories and form new annals in the history books?
Take it slowly. There is no rush. Normal will come. The countdown has begun.
In the meantime, roll on Monday!
© The Real Tilly Fairfax