We sent Margaret back to daycare today. I recognize my feelings as post-traumatic, the same visceral slackening I've felt after staggering off of bumpy airline flights and navigating through other, worse, trials. Apparently my body experiences at-home parenting as trauma. I am not surprised.
The other kid is still here, but one six year-old is so much less of a grind than one six year old competing for attention with a one-year-old.
I feel bad that it is Margaret, who was the only one of us to flourish under quarrantine, who bears the brunt of our family's needs. And I feel bad that we are exploding her, and ourselves, and her caretakers to this risk.
But wow, it's quiet right now.
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