A letter to our little ones

The sun sets on another day of isolation. The nights are becoming lighter but the dainty glow is being shut out by the shields of our homes. There is still a shady overcast of information to when this will all be over but while we adults strain the nerves of our anxiety from fear and anticipation, you have been so patient. Shut in from your regular routine, distanced from your family and friends with not a clear understanding to why this has happened. 

You still wake with a smile spread evenly across both cheeks, ready for the day ahead, absorbing the repetitive pattern, relentless with your composure, eager to march through the guarded door and take on your walk for some fresh air and new scenery. We can see the frustration when we have to restrict you from the public; we understand the importance of yours and the community’s welfare but to you we are holding you back from exploring. 

You can’t figure out why there are heavy chains imprisoning the monkey bars and swings as you walk past your favourite park or why you can’t see the new-born lambs at your local farm, it won’t make sense to you now but when you are older we will educate you on, not the devastation it caused but how the country came together, supporting the vulnerable, applauding our NHS heroes for saving thousands of lives while putting their own life on the line, sacrificing their time with their loved ones to work tirelessly  each and every day. How millions of people donated to Captain Tom (who served in the army during World War two) who at 100 years old set up a fundraiser to walk 100 lengths of his garden for the NHS and managed to raise a staggering £32 million pounds and people are still donating now (which is amazing). No one will forget the thousands of people from across the world that lost their life to this awful virus, but it will teach us lessons we didn’t know we needed from companionship to appreciation. (I say lessons loosely as this feels more like punishment) 

We sympathize with the boredom, we feel it too and even though the days are blurring into one long month, we also know this time with you is so precious. Usually Mum and Dad are working or running errands, we end up missing so much of your learning, your creative mind and just your valuable time in general. We have loved baking, painting and interacting through your imagination as we play in the golden sun or hide and seek as you try to cram into the smallest of gaps. We value and hold you tight while we ride through this wave. Even though we soak up the memories there are family and friends that are dreaming of the day they can see your beaming little smiles.

We know Uncles and Aunties and Nannies and Nanas, Grandads and Grandpas that are missing you an incredible amount. They can only see you through video calls or windows, holding on to a future when they can cuddle you in their arms, kissing you on the soft skin of your cheek, breathe in your infectious energy, filling the room with your happiness and love. 

The emotions will be extremely high when the day comes but for now we stand still at home knowing we are doing this so we can see our loved ones soon.

Thank you for reading 


Published by Roman’s Mum

Hi, Roman’s mum here aka Courtney Anderson I’m 25 years old, and I’m a first time mum to my gorgeous son. I work part time and the other half i get to enjoy precious time with my boy. When I’m at work I like to be professional, I take pride in my appearance. I socialise with adults, but when I’m the stay at home mum I unfortunately look nothing like i did the day before. My hair’s scrapped back with snot and biscuit smudged into my day pyjamas barely keeping any sanity together. On the odd occasion I do find time to get my shit together, I will take photos as evidence. I want to share my experiences of motherhood, from going on holiday’s to milestones. You name it I want to share it.

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