The Deuce

Time for an update:

Christmas, New Years, got Covid, started moving.

Okay, now that we’re up to speed, it feels too late to do a holiday post so I’m going to blow right by Christmas and New Years and the fact that I woke up at 3am on Jan 1st with a Covidfever (we all recovered), and just get to what’s happening now.

My lovely family and I are in the process of packing up everything and moving into my mother-in-law’s place. We are so beyond grateful that she is letting us stay there for a few months, because I hate paying rent and she lives in a country club with 6 golf courses. So yeah…pretty hard to beat that as we start rounding the corner into Spring (hopefully). Despite how excited I am to live there, here comes one of the worst tasks ever: moving.

Moving absolutely sucks. The fact that moving exists makes me question why I have things. Every time I move, I end up throwing out so much shit, then I accumulate more just to throw it out again when I move out of that place. All I really need is a mattress, TV, Xbox, grill, computer, 9 outfits, a chair, and my golf clubs. That list has grown to include Jenn and Emily’s stuff, but I think I could legitimately live with just those items. Anyway, moving sucks, but it sucks more with a baby. Since we aren’t moving into an empty apartment, all of our big stuff needed to go into storage. Luckily, I have a free storage facility known as my parent’s basement. So, we had to rent a UHaul and bring most of our big items and boxes of non-necessities to my parent’s place. Not too bad since they came to help but moving furniture in the snow with a baby isn’t fun. Plus, we’ve gotten all the big stuff out and we still have a bunch of shit to deal with by either donating or getting to New Jersey. Thank goodness Jenn’s grandparents have a truck and a trailer.

I didn’t write this just to bitch about moving, here comes the unsolicited advice you’ve all come to love: ASK FOR HELP! As a young father, I want to be the man of the house. I have the picture in my head of what the ideal father is, and it’s really just my dad. My dad is a worker, and he works harder than anyone I know. He is getting something important done seemingly 24/7. Obviously there are breaks for meals, walking the dog, and Jeopardy!, but even his leisure activity is running. The man is a goddamn machine and also an amazing dad. This is the man I want to be. So, when it comes time to move, or budget, or make a big decision, in my head I am going to solve it on my own and get it right the first try. But that is complete and total bullshit. Despite my gut feeling that I need to solve every problem on my own, I constantly ask for help. I have had a lot of practice. You don’t get 5 years sober alone, and early sobriety has taught me that I need to ask for help to survive. This is something that has made its way into every facet of my life. I ask my parents, my friends, and my wife for help all the time. This was something that I struggled with for a while, but it is something that I feel so strongly about now. Asking for help is critical, whether its help with a diaper change, moving a couch, or needing a basement to stay in, you can’t get it if you don’t ask.

Ringing In The New Year… With COVID

What I’m living off of….

We have a 3-month old. We were so careful. We go to the grocery store, the doctors, and have only seen immediate family (sisters and parents) since September. In fact, the last people we saw had tested negative 2 days prior.

So how did we contract COVID? The truth is, we don’t know.

2020 was the absolute best year for Connor and myself. I know we can’t say the same for many other individuals across America, but we had a banner year. Getting engaged, finding out we were expecting, moving across the country, getting married, and giving birth to our beautiful daughter- nothing could top 2020.

Well, the universe decided that the Whiteley/Dupre household needed a wrench thrown into our life.

On New Year’s Day, Connor and I woke up with sore throats and stuffy noses. Now, we both have seasonal allergies and we’re overdue for colds, so we didn’t think much of it. We went about our day. The next morning, around 3:30am, I got up to feed Em. Connor woke up with me asking for an extra blanket because he had the chills… uh-oh.

After I fed Em, we took his temperature and saw he had a fever of 101.2. I didn’t have a fever. Well, fuck.

I put Em back in her room and retreated down the the living room.

Since Saturday, Emily and I have been living on the first floor of our house, and Connor has been living in our bedroom. Since the only out of the ordinary symptoms I had were a stuffy nose, we didn’t think I’d have COVID… but we’re certain he did. Fatigue, loss of appetite, fever, and a dry cough encompassed Connor as we went through the weekend.

On Monday, we drove to CVS to take COVID tests (sent through the lab for near accurate results). I’m still with Em downstairs.

Wednesday morning, results come in. Connor: Positive. Jenn: Negative. What? How could that be? We live together. Breathe the same air. Slept in the same bed up until 3:30am on Saturday. There was no way.

Well, Connor was still having the same symptoms, minus the fever, and I had only developed more congestion. It felt like a sinus infection.

I called my OBGYN yesterday and scheduled another COVID test. If it was indeed negative, Em and I were packing up and heading to my moms for a few days (she had COVID last month, and is no longer contagious/able to get it for 3 months).

Well, plot twist. I woke up this morning, Thursday, with a little more congestion. Took some Advil, nothing to worry about. Then, my beautiful daughter pooped. Unusual for first thing in the morning, but an impressive size.

I was laughing at how much she pooped, when I realized… I couldn’t smell it. I couldn’t smell my 3-month olds breast milk/formula poops. Oh FUCK!

Upon further investigation , I couldn’t smell or taste my morning clementine or tea.

The loss of taste/smell is one of the last and newest symptoms of the beloved COVID.

The worst part of all? Here is what we did last week: went to Emily’s doctor for her 3 month checkup. Went to the grocery store. Wore masks. Umm… what, COVID?

We are going on day 7/8 of symptoms, which means we only have about another 5-7 days of quarantining in our own house.

Thank you to our wonderful mother’s for doing our laundry and bringing us groceries. We couldn’t do it without you.

I know there are so many families who didn’t have the COVID that we do. We are so lucky that we have mild cases, the worst symptom being Connor’s fever. As long as Miss Emily doesn’t develop a fever (which I would think she won’t this late in the game) we are on the road to recovery.

Thank you for reading! Wear your masks. Be safe. It’s all going to be okay.