I am not an angry person. Never have been. I’m sweary and I mutter under my breath, but my anger is always short-lived.
But what I am experiencing now is something different to anger. It is rage.
Stinging hot tears, clenched fists, counting to three, deep breathing, body tensing, electrifying, adrenaline pumping and absolutely horrifying rage.
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In late December, my husband and I had our first baby in our home in the US.
It was just after Christmas when our daughter was born in the snow. My parents were here and the world was soft, sparkling and muffled and everything felt warm and cozy and hopeful.
We did the normal thing and stayed at home for the first six weeks of her life, my parents returned home to Australia with tearful goodbyes, but we coped as we always do by saying “see you soon”. And then, just as we were making our way back into the world and navigating life with a baby, the pandemic hit and “see you soon” became a fantasy.
At first I was scared and sad, but that hope was still there.