Into the unknown.

"I just open the fridge door, have a look at what needs using and then scrapple something together' says my Mum, who is infamous for casually knocking together delicious quiches or soups from nowhere. "We just have to be really frugal" she says, and I see my Dad reading his newspaper in silence over her shoulder.

[My mind flicks to a mental image of my sister, she's at Uni and has moved back in with Mum and Dad but Mum's gone away, so it's just her and Dad at home. "We've eaten the same stew for two days in a row now, Dad says he's going to jazz it up by adding a tin of beans tonight."]

"I know Mum" I say "I did a batch of super-veggie-bol the other day, that's four meals" and I wonder if she imagines me at home, smoking fat rolls of Andrex and throwing Rigatoni in to the fire. "I can come over if you want? I could stand at one end of the garden and you could stand at the other? We could have a cup of tea from a distance?" My Mum says no, I need to focus on hunkering down with my little family she says. But I can tell we are both sad about not seeing each other. "Happy Mothers Day" we say with half-hearted cheerful voices, before ending the WhatsApp call.

Except, it's a bit of a weird Mothers Day, not a totally happy one, we are in this weird new world. Socially distanced and all at sea. We had the longest week in what seems like an eternity, the world has completely changed and is changing still. Countries in lockdown and daily press conferences and no one seems to know what to do, or say or think quite frankly. I've spent a week in limbo, not knowing what will happen with work or school or the world and it continues to evolve in this uncertain and unnerving way each day. Snatched conversations with my husband about "What the heck are we going to do now?" and "Have you seen the latest?" and "I'm fine honestly, we're lucky in the grand scheme of things aren't we?" shortly followed by "Pass the wine" or "Please can you whack the kettle on again?"

I start preparing a gammon and pop the cork on a bottle of sherry. Yes, I am the only thirty something year old I know who drinks fortified wine, and enjoys it. I chuck a load of carrots in a pan and glug the shezza while thoughts pass in and out of my head at a million times an hour. Try and focus on what you know and not on what you don't know, one side of my head tells the other:

It's Mothers Day and my toddler pooed all over the new crafting supplies yesterday.

It's Mothers Day and I haven't left the house in four days.

It's Mothers Day and do you know, I just built the girls a slide at the bottom of the garden.

It's Mothers Day and someone just sent the group a message saying "We're all fucked."

It's Mothers Day and the only potatoes we've got left are soft and covered in sprouts.

It's Mothers Day and I've seen two butterflies in the garden today.

It's Mothers Day and when my toddler caught sight of my boobs yesterday she actually said "Wow. They're perfect Mummy"

It's Mothers Day and they've told all vulnerable people to stay inside for twelve weeks.

It's Mothers Day and someone else replies to the group asking if we can be a bit more positive.

It's Mothers Day and my eldest daughter drew a picture of me and said "Mummy, this is you! If you look I did the mug in red because it has wine in it"

It's Mothers Day and we just got an email to say our holiday is cancelled.

[My mind flicks to our holiday with my family last year, we're all sat on the beach in Scotland. My husband and brother in law are chasing all the kids in to the sea and they are screaming and laughing hysterically. I'm sat barefoot on the sand, reading and drinking a glass of Prosecco with my mum and sisters. I wonder when I will get to cuddle my nieces and nephews again]

It's Mothers Day and if I think about it all for too long my vision mists up.

You see, this is just the beginning. And my crate of apocalypse wine doesn't arrive until tomorrow. And maybe we and people we know will get this thing. And I feel things, really feel things, when I think of all the people in my life who are affected by this right now. I feel things when I watch the news and when I scroll through social media. I feel things when I watch my girls playing happily in the garden, blissfully unaware of what's going on outside. I feel things when I hear and read from NHS staff, up to their eyeballs. I feel things when I realise there is more to come. I smother the gammon in half a jar of my mums marmalade. I hope for the best. I take a breath. I sip my sherry.