The ‘Lockdown Mum’. Not to be confused with the exhausted Mum, the at her wits end Mum or the eat her weight in wine gums Mum. No, the Lockdown Mum is an accumulation of all thee and a dash of sleep deprivation just to keep things really interesting.
The Lockdown Mum can often be found stuck on a treadmill loop which leads directly to her kitchen, where shes heads to on multiple occasions throughout the day to forage for snacks for her ever hungry younglings. As expected her offering is usually dismissed with a grunt and indication that it’s far to healthy. Obviously, this requires the Lockdown Mum to make several more trips to the kitchen before eventually caving in to her own mini meltdown and consuming the entire snack box herself, subsequently washing it all down with the nearest half full bottle of any form of booze to get through the next 325 trips to the kitchen that day.
The Lockdown Mum can usually be seen jigging around the living room, although this ritual is not to be mistaken as some form erotic dance, oh no, the Lockdown Mum has spent the last year in a permanent state of ‘needing a wee’. The only confusing element of the ‘wee dance’ being that she hasn’t actually managed to drink a hot cup of tea in the same amount of time to warrant such dances.
The Lockdown Mum has recently evolved her ‘just a Mum’ role to include hairdresser, dentist, shoe sizer, teacher, PE instructor, general all around assistant, dinner lady, clothes picker-upper, happy story teller, English work enforcer, expert of all things math related, constant toilet cleaner, home worker and creator of several nutritional and excitingly varied meals a day. The ability of the Lockdown Mum to achieve this is purely based on the fact that she has no fucking choice but to suck it up and get on with it. And wine, obvs.
The Lockdown Mum can on occasion be found curled up into a ball of utter despair, rocking slightly with un-shed tears pooling in her eyes and caffeine withdrawal shakes consuming her entire being. Upon the discovery of Mum’s meltdown at least one of her offspring will develop some form of sympathy (having probably accidentally ate some with one of yesterdays forty million snacks) and will proceed to kind of set the table for dinner while offering the shaking mother a sort of loose one armed half hug and seizing the opportunity to ask if they can now go on the Play Station. After all a sad Mum is a guilty Mum who can’t say no.
The Lockdown Mum should not (but totally could) be confused with one of the zombie extra’s in The Walking Dead (but no, the Lockdown Mum would be that lucky to have the time in the day needed to apply this much make up on the regular). Her trend setting ‘I never sleep’ look is all natural and as a result of her nightly ritual/game the Kid likes to call ‘torment the shit out of Mum’, Following which and after having only frequented her bed for a few moments she can more often than not be found clinging to her duvet at 7 am while surrounded by children demanding to be fed, again.
The Lockdown Mum has simply forgotten what it’s like to just be Mum and spends her evenings with mixed feelings, silently chuffed to have home schooled not only the eldest in common noun use but also herself, whilst silently sobbing, having convinced herself that her children simply no longer like her and praying for sleep/half term, whichever comes first.
