I’m done. I want all my children back home. I’m tired of Noah being quarantined with the other scouts, Amy here with a scout sibling and my other children at the grandparents. A night alone with my husband is fun, but this isn’t fun. This is stressful. This is my heart doing that weird flutter thing all the time and me on the verge of tears because I’m not getting any sleep. Instead of staying in our different levels of quarantine indefinitely, I want our lives back. If someone gets sick, we’ll give all the children the $120 per person TamiFlu and be quarantined in the house together.

I knew that I was fighting something that couldn’t be controlled. How many people do we interact with daily who have Strep or a cold or some other contagious cootie? We have spent the past 5 days standing still. Waiting. If I knew I would die tomorrow, I wouldn’t get in bed and try to assume a Sleeping Beauty pose. I would dance and sing and play with my family. I miss dancing. I miss laughing. Tonight, everyone will be home and my body will feel 10 pounds lighter, even if it doesn’t look it. I might still cry from exhaustion, but they’ll be happy tears followed by a night with a 4-year-old snuggled up against me.

I haven’t gone through a transformation. I’m still going to avoid visiting anyone even if they promise to keep their puking child out of sight. With only one prescription for antibiotics for one child the entire school year last year, I think that’s too effective a method to dismiss. I just learned that being away from my children makes me sick. And grumpy.