We were in the midst of planning a move, packing our belongings, and planning all of the things to do in our new city.
Researching homes and schools, dreaming of all of the new places and things to see. Not once did we expect that as soon as everything was packed and we began our journey, that the world was going to shut down. All of a sudden the life that we had been so excited about starting was put on hold.
We knew we could do this.
We’ve spent months without power and water after a typhoon, trying to keep a heat rash away from our 5-month old. We collected rainwater for “bucket showers” and flushing toilets. Grocery store trips consisted of finding items with a small amount of mold that you could scrape off and we’d wait months for a dairy shipment. All do-able things, you just had to adapt your way of thinking and push forward.
Again, we knew we could do this. So we cook every single meal, and when it’s time to grocery shop we take turns going out. We have nature walks and explore our new city while maintaining a distance from others. We wash our hands regularly to stay healthy and make sure that our toddler is educated and entertained.
But every time Juliana sadly asks if we can go to the playground, my heart breaks. When she sees another kid and yells “Hi, friend!” while running to them only to see them get scared and run the other way, my heart breaks. As Juliana names her family members and says she misses them, my heart breaks.
There’s no way she can understand why she can no longer have the things she’s used to.
She doesn’t know what the yellow tape around a playground means. She doesn’t understand why she can’t see her grandparents other than on FaceTime. We’re in an Air BNB where most of our belongings are packed up and just hoping our house closes on time. Nothing in her life is the same, but we’re trying to keep every day consistent.
So we’ll continue to look out the window and name everything we see. We’ll continue potty training and working on our shapes and colors. We’ll pick up every rock we find and throw it in the lake while saying hello to strangers six feet away. We’ll continue snuggling her and coddling a little too much, we all need it right now. We’ll push forward and adapt while hope this all ends soon because that’s what we do. As my heart continues to break throughout this, I can only hope that Juliana will look back one day and understand.