That meant that I was back at home on Day Three. In isolation. With the husband and the baby. So much for being back with the adults. Working from home is harder than simply working or simply being home. You're doing both. There's a photo of me sitting in front of the microphone I'd set up in the apartment's office with Iggy in a front pack on my lap.
It wasn't our apartment either. We caught Covid out of our home city. We were stuck in Auckland, isolating in a friend's apartment.
Day Three was also the day Iggy went to Starship. He caught Covid too. But he was a trooper. It was just a precaution ordered by the paediatrician because he was so small.
Day Four he wasn't fine. He whimpered all day and we took turns letting him sleep on us.
One of those days I got a sore throat and night sweats and even though I was testing negative I had the rona. It took days for me to test positive.
Day Five was the weekend and I stopped counting the days. That was also the day my mum - bless her - went to about five different shops to get us the things we needed but didn't have in a city we don't call home at the moment. Two pairs of reading glasses for the husband, three new outfits for Iggy, who had already outgrown half the clothing we'd taken with us when we left home two weeks earlier, replacement bottle teats, food, beer and vitamin C.
Sounds horrific right? It actually wasn't. Truth is it was entirely manageable. And that's because of one person. My husband.
I take back every snarky remark I've ever made about men doing their bit around the house. He's a gold medallist. I just looked up from writing this column to see him folding bed sheets in the lounge. When I got home this evening, he still had Iggy in the bath. That bath went on for 30 minutes. Iggy was loving it so much that the husband let him lie around in his little bath hammock just a bit longer. He gives our son the best day he can, every day.
I don't regret going back to work after two months. Yes, some days those 4am feeds catch up on me and I'm really tired. Some days I feel like I only have half an hour to myself after helping with bottles and laundry and he's awake and preparing for work and doing dishes and changing the sheets and he's awake and going to work and coming back from work and he's awake. But it's manageable because it's not forever.
And it's manageable because of my husband. I don't mean to be schmaltzy. I'm being honest. If you walk out the door knowing your child is in good hands it means you don't have to worry. Which means you can focus on work. It wasn't me taking Iggy to Starship for three hours that day. It was my husband. I suspect a partner like this is the difference between coping and not coping as a working parent.
So do you want to know what it's like going back to work with a 2-month-old? It's not easy, but it's not hard. It's lovely. I look forward to going to work and I look forward to coming home to my family.