I had always planned to start trying for my second child 18 months after my first was born. I figured, like my first, this whole miracle of life thing would take months and require medical support like the creation of my first child. At age 36 I didn’t want to look back and think I waited too long to try. I wanted to give my son at least one sibling, maybe two. After my father’s death two years ago, and overall being so far from any family with children my son’s age, and growing up in a large extended family, it hit me hard how important it was to make my own little big family if I could.
Then, a global pandemic happened. In case you haven’t noticed.
I wasn’t in denial of what that meant. I weighed the pros and the many cons. I didn’t mind the idea of not seeing people during my pregnancy or missing things like baby showers and such. If it had been my first pregnancy I would be missing all that but been there, done that, and ok with hibernating these nine months. But I was expecting it to take a while to get pregnant—putting me at a late spring or summer or fall due date—after the second and likely worst peak of the pandemic had past. But the pandemic and my body had other ideas.
In March, I either had COVID or some form of debilitating anxiety where I couldn’t eat. The reason I think it was COVID is that my go-to when I am anxious is eating. But in a month, I lost 8lbs. I also had a lot of lung issues and ended up getting an inhaler and feeling liquid in my lungs for a while. It could have been bad allergies (I don’t have allergies typically) or maybe I was just losing it—but nonetheless I ended up eating healthy/less and with the massive reduction in social anxiety (not having to interact with other humans was just a huge relief, esp coming off what might have been an actual manic episode the prior fall and early winter) my body apparently said “ok, you are ready to be a mom again.”
With my first son, I took my pregnancy test on my 34th birthday. With this one, it was Mother’s Day. I figured my life is secretly scripted so of course I’d find out on mom’s day that I had rapidly reproduced this time around. I used a cheap-o test at first and there was a very very faint line. My text to a friend confirmed it was there. The more expensive test I took a few minutes later said it definitely was there. Pregnant. In a pandemic.
It was no longer a — well maybe I’ll get pregnant and maybe I’ll have to deal with the tail end of the pandemic in a while and maybe that will be difficult. It was—you are delivering in January. The exact month the pandemic will probably be at its actual worst, after a summer of people flouting the rules, after nearly a year of people saying they just want to get back to normal life. Oh, and for fun let’s make your due date two days after the inauguration what will likely be the most contested election in American history, when our prior president may refuse to leave office should be not get re-elected. Why not?
There are definitely pros to being pregnant during a pandemic. For starters, being able to work from home my entire pregnancy is a blessing. As I’m older now, this pregnancy has been a bit harder on me. I think part of that is because I’m not moving enough (which means I would be better off going to an office dusky) but being able to lie down and work, or sit down and wait for a wave of nausea to pass without getting any weird looks at the office is one of the best things about this specific situation. While last time I felt I had to push myself to not be disabled by pregnancy (working up until my due date with horrible carpal tunnel at the end and eventually being diagnosed with gestational hypertension and needing to be induced) I can take this pregnancy easy. Ish. I mean as easy as one can take a pregnancy with no childcare and a two year old wanting attention all day.
Yes, a negative of the pandemic has definitely been the loss of childcare. Prior to the pandemic my FIL came to watch our son four days a week. He enjoyed it and it worked out well for us. But then with COVID we couldn’t risk getting him sick—even though we immediately went into isolation and were being as careful as possible, I had to go to a few doctors appointments so we had to stop seeing my in laws for a while. My husband, who works flexible hours, stepped up to take on the bulk of the childcare. At first, that seemed to work well. I was thriving at work, sleeping well, able to focus without the commute and anxiety of judging myself so harshly for every movement around others. For a few months, I felt, hey, I can get the hang of this pandemic life.
My husband was definitely struggling, though, and as my pregnancy progressed the sleep I was getting turned into random wakings in the middle of the night. I began to be sad overall about the pandemic—about how my son cannot play with other kids, about how my mom can’t see her grandchild until who knows when, about how my sister and my son’s only aunt may not see him for years. We eventually made the choice to see our in laws again, but only 2 weeks after any in person doctor’s appointment. We have completely isolated otherwise, except for going around with our realtor looking at empty houses as we wanted to buy and move before baby number two. I think that little socialization and activity kept me sane these past few months. Oh, and we bought a house (also known as baby #3.) So we have been keeping busy. My son seems ok as he doesn’t know what he is missing. He is now used to mommy grabbing him when we are out and an older kid comes too close, like at the empty park the other night when an unmasked pre-teen came storming out of nowhere and sat right behind my unsuspecting son. Now that some parks are open we will go only when they are empty, and we wash hands after. It seems low risk. But who knows. We do our best. But like everyone else we can still get sick.
Pregnant women are much more likely to end up on a ventilator if we get COVID-19. I would very much prefer to not end up on a vent in my third trimester or ever. I’m scared now, a bit, but being as careful as I can be. I have only a handful of in-person doctor’s appointments left. I’ll go and wear my mask and try to stay far away from other humans and hope I can stay healthy. I worry about what happens when I go to the hospital to give birth. I worry about wearing a mask while in labor when I am already panicked and finding it hard to breathe. I worry about looking at every nurse and doctor who helps me while in the hospital and wondering — do they have COVID? What if I get COVID while in the hospital? Should I have a home birth? Should I get to the hospital so late I give birth in the parking lot and am close enough if anything goes wrong they can whisk me or baby inside and save our lives? What if I get sick at the hospital and die a few weeks later, leaving my kids with no mom? What if I get my husband, who has some high risk medical conditions, sick and leave my kids without a dad—and me without a husband?
But I keep reminding myself pregnancy is a risk in and of itself. Everything in life is risk. So I just need to be as careful as possible, keep calm, and carry on.
I mourn all the things I am missing out on this pregnancy. There has been little time to celebrate my growing bump. I am sad for the weeks ahead, after birth, when I can’t connect with other new mothers as I did last time. I worry for all the pregnant woman and new moms who are essential workers—or married to one—who aren’t able to lock themselves away from the virus.
Overall I, personally, am doing well. My concentration has gone to shit these past few months, but I’m surviving. After a few solid months at work when I was doing well, I came crashing down with the exhaustion and anxiety that is life these days. I keep reminding myself that just surviving—and doing the best I can (as long as I can keep my job, hopefully)—is enough right now. Gone are my fantasizes of thriving in my career, moving up the ladder, what have you. I can be a good employee and a mom and I don’t have to be a leader or brilliant or whatever it is that is worker bees think equals success. I am in a very good place if I can just hold it together mentally, and physically. I can have this baby and experience all of that and see what life looks like on the other side of it.
For now, I’m so grateful for the last months, for working from home and being able to see my son grow up. I didn’t see him much in his first year. I don’t have time or energy now to see him as much as I would like in a more present way, but I’m here nonetheless. I’m here to see him wake up and for a quick lunchtime cuddle and afternoon laugh. This has reminded me of how much I was missing. It really had made me realize what matters in life. In a sense, I think there is something to be said about being forced to hole up and slow down. And, assuming WFH will stick for a while, I look forward to being able to breastfeed longer versus having to sneak away to the mom’s room to pump every few hours. To not have to drive to the office in those first months after maternity leave when I almost got into an accident too many times to count because who sleeps with a <6 month old?
So I’m focused on the positives. And survival. And trying to move on to this next home-owning, mom-to-two, mentally stable (hopefully) phase of my life. I’ll do my best, but for the first time in my life, maybe I won’t give it my all. And I’m ok with that.
life with interest 