Don’t get me wrong. I’m very grateful. But I’m not sure I can bear it much longer.
My suits haven’t left the closet – alright, the laundry basket; what are you, the Marie Kondo police?! – in nearly a month; and the shiny, happy, new heels I bought on that blissfully ignorant eve prior to our orders to work from home, remain innocently ensconced in their box.
They call to me with the long, plaintive cry of the unworn; beckoning me like a siren’s song.
I hear you, my pretties. I hear you. And what are you complaining about?! I wore you yesterday in my PJs around the living room… We danced to Right Said Fred! Did that mean nothing to you?!
I think I may be going slightly mad.
I find myself singing “Baby Shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo!”…even when the Toddler is not around. Also, the toaster’s been laughing at me.
I fear my descent from sophisticated Mummy-about-Town to reclusive, deranged shut-in is imminent. A fear that inches ever closer with every leftover peanut butter and honey sandwich I scoff from the Toddler’s plate. And hand.
My usual beauty appointments have all been cancelled, and I have no idea whether or not I’m allowed to step into my hairdresser or if a SWAT team will swarm and tackle me as I run for the basin. I heard whispers of an underground beauty service, but our lines of communication were cut. I can only hope the Government appreciates the value of a good eyebrow wax before it’s too late. Ideally, before we all start looking like Frida Kahlo.
Until then I’ll have to satisfy myself with YouTube tutorials and old episodes of Drag Race.
It’s been nearly a week since I’ve washed my hair and it’s beginning to matt at the crown.
But I hide it well, I think.
My top tip for slaying in isolation? A halfupdo hides a multitude of sins, it’s practical, flattering; and all those frazzled knots clump together nicely for a rather chic confinement coiffure. Plus no need to tease it to Jesus, girlfriend! Also I find a cute hairclip from Sportsgirl tarts it up nicely in the event of any unexpected visitors I receive behind the safety of my locked screen door.
Don’t come any closer or I’ll get the supersoaker. I MEAN IT.
Or at least, that’s what my new custom “unwelcome” mat from Etsy says. You can get the cutest things online these days.
Today the Toddler pointed at Ursula from the Little Mermaid and said “Mummy”.
When I laughed and said “no darling, that’s not Mummy – here’s Mummy” whilst showing her a wedding picture from the shelf, she shook her head and pointed back at the TV.
Don’t know if I’ll ever laugh again.
Braved the shops for the essentials like sav blanc, cab sav, rosé, and potatoes (in case we need to make vodka). Managed to sweep the leg of someone going for the last bar of soap. Knew this pram would come in handy. Panicked at the checkout when told I had to choose only two canned items. Chose a can of sauerkraut and a can of diced capsicum. What the hell am I going to do with either of those?! Clearly not good in a crisis.
I look forward to finding them both at the back of the cupboard in three years’ time, when we next clean it out.
All this working hunched over a laptop is giving me a mighty hump. I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror today and nearly had a heart attack. It was basically Quasimodo in a hairclip.
Mama’s gotta get back into the office, ASAP.
Now, the effort of writing has made me lightheaded – so I close by saying: SAVE ME! SAVE ME NOW!
Sarah-Elke Kraal is a Queensland Law Society Senior Legal Professional Development Executive, email@example.com.
This story was originally published in Proctor May 2020.