5:30am: Alarm goes off. Check Twitter. Briefly panic at the headlines. (Why is Betty White trending, again!?) Breath. Make a cup of coffee (only one cup, with a tiny amount of creamer — in case we’re stuck with our limited supply of coffee & creamer for a while). Get up to speed on all-things coronavirus and prep for our Cheddar Need2Know podcast, which Carlo Versano and I will record from our respective homes. 
6:30am: Huddle into the corner of the living room as Carlo and I check our audio. It’s go-time. Try to speak loudly and sound authoritative, but not SO loudly and authoritative that I wake my 17-month old daughter. She normally gets up about an hour from now, and I NEED these few extra moments to prep for the day, and dare I say, take a moment of silence to enjoy the few sips of coffee I have left. 
Jill's current situation.
7:30am: Thank you, Alexandra, who woke up smiling and happy, blithely unaware that the entire world is pretty much shut down and that all playdates, music classes, visits to the playground and to grandma and grandpa’s house have been canceled for the foreseeable future.  
Breakfast proceeds as usual. As do the smooches from our dog. We got this. 
8:30am: Attempt to dial into a work conference call while reading Barnyard Friends to my daughter. By “read,” I mean, make all appropriate animal noises (“neeeeeigh” and “mooooo”), praying that the mute button on this call is actually working. 
Peek into the bedroom where my husband is slightly stressed (understatement), attempting to make sense of a stock market that no longer makes sense. 
9:30am: Ok, what now? Normally on a Tuesday morning, I would have already anchored our morning show, Wake Up With Cheddar, and I’d be in the middle of Cheddar News. Our wonderful nanny would be watching our daughter, getting her ready for a walk and then music class. But these aren’t normal times. Our nanny is now self-quarantining because a few of her friends have confirmed cases of coronavirus. Knock on wood, she’s feeling good. But because she has no symptoms, she’s not eligible for testing. And that means we can’t know for sure that she doesn’t have it. And technically speaking, my husband, daughter and I were all with our nanny after she was with her friends, so I’m not sure what that means for us. Bottom line: instead of covering the most important story of our time, I am home, watching my daughter, and trying to help at work the best I can. 
So, breakfast is done. What now? It’s time to FACETIME… Facetime with literally anyone who will pick up. Our nanny. Friends. Aunts and uncles, cousins. But most importantly, Grandma and Papa, to make sure they are staying home and following the recent guidelines for people over 70. Ok good, they pick up. And they’re home. But this is only after I lectured them numerous times — can you say, role reversal — about how serious this actually is, especially for them. 
10:30am: Writing this “tick-tock” as my husband pauses trading and watches our daughter. I am currently staring at a supply of diapers, apple sauce, and SpaghettiOs that line the back wall in our room. We’re in a two-bedroom apartment so there aren’t many options here. 
It’s 10:30am and we’ve already taken out the small indoor slide that we would normally save for the 6pm “witching hour.” 
I wonder how we’re going to get from 10:30am to bedtime, settling in for what’s starting to feel like a new normal. I can hear through the bedroom door that my daughter is getting fussy and the dog is barking. That’s my cue… 
Talk later.