After a day full of wiping sore behinds, holding heads over bowls of many shapes and sizes, and responding to text requests from my quarantined husband for "icy h2o pls," I put Margot to bed and crashed right next to her to the drone of the television at around 9pm.
The explosions, gags, and sickly moans have taken over the house for what I hope is only a few more days at most. But more disturbing and a little depressing is the odd silence. No children singing, chattering, or even fighting. Nothing to block out the dogs barking and begging to be let out, the washing machine and dryer working overtime, and the baby screaming to be picked up.
And no laughing. Even to my one woman circus side show saved only for these such occasions.