Being a First Time Mom During a Pandemic
• TW: mention of depression + suicide •
Growing up I always dreamed of being a mother. When I found out I was pregnant in July 2019 I was overjoyed! I began envisioning what the next year would look like with my new baby. I daydreamed about celebrating the holidays with her. Making sure her firsts were special, even if she wasn’t going to remember them. I imagined making mom friends, I even signed up for a mom-to-mom connection group. The thought of forming a bond with other moms and having our babies play together was so exciting. I also had stressful thoughts, I worried about having a newborn during flu season. I devised plans on how to limit visitors and keep as many germs at bay as possible. Not realizing that in a few short months, the flu wouldn’t be the only illness I had to worry about.
During the beginning of my final trimester, Covid-19 made its way into the United States. Admittedly I thought that it would be under control by the time I gave birth, if not before. A national emergency was declared three days before I gave birth. The hospital I gave birth at implemented a rule of only one support person being allowed. That meant that no family was allowed to come to visit me in the hospital. Which honestly I didn’t mind too much at the time, because I was having a rough recovery from an emergency c-section. Due to some minor problems after birth, I had to stay a few days longer at the hospital. During these days I had no idea what was going on in the outside world. I hadn’t slept more than a few hours total in days, I was in pain from my c-section and catheter, and the baby blues was already hitting me hard. So it’s safe to say that what was happening was in the back of my mind. A nurse later informed me that our state was preparing to start shutting down restaurants, stores and give a curfew. That’s when I started to realize how serious this virus was.
I left the hospital on the morning of the fifth day. I was nervous. As I was being wheeled down to the lobby, I held my precious newborn in my arms. Trying my best to shield her face from germs and other people, without totally covering it. I was already a germaphobe before I had a baby, so you can imagine how I was since I not only had a newborn but a newborn during a pandemic. It was time for her first doctor’s appointment. I dreaded the thought of having to go to a doctor’s office of all places but knew it was needed. I made sure to have gloves, her car seat cover, and plenty of hand sanitizer. Aside from her doctor’s appointments and due to the cold weather, we stayed inside.
I have a history of depression and knew that because of that I was at a greater risk of postpartum depression. Being proactive, while pregnant I had scheduled a therapy appointment for after I gave birth. Due to the shutdown, it had to be turned into a phone session. As it got closer to the time for my appointment, I canceled it. I was sleep-deprived, and it had been around a year since my last therapy session so I was anxious. I had so much to catch my therapist upon, and I did not feel like reopening old wounds, making myself sadder than I already was. So I tried to deal with it on my own. As I said before, I had minor problems during my c-section recovery. It was too painful for me to move, so I stayed seated while someone would hand me, my baby. It got to a point where I felt frustrated with my body, that I was not able to do something as simple as picking my baby up. I wasn’t able to change her diaper and every time I wanted to get up, I had to hold on to someone. Not only that but I was struggling with breastfeeding, she wasn’t latching properly and I was so stressed that she wasn’t eating enough. To add on to those things, I was having problems in my relationship. I was healing from betrayal, feeling lack of support, and anger from it all. I was so insecure about my postpartum body, I felt disgusting. I had planned to go to the gym but those were shut down as well. Then to top it all off I had not been outside for weeks. Those things combined had me feeling broken and that my daughter deserved a better mother. There were many nights that I would hold my daughter as she slept and I would just sob. It got to the point where honestly, I wanted to die. I wanted to die, yet I didn’t want to leave my baby behind. So I started to feel urges to self-harm instead. It took a lot in me to not give in to the urges, even though I felt so lonely, unloved, and defeated.
Flash forward seven months and it was about to be my daughter’s first big holiday, Halloween. Before Covid, I had imagined dressing her up and taking her trick or treating, even if she wasn’t going to eat any candy. Although, seeing from some of the mom Facebook groups I’m in that some were still going to do so. I had determined that it wasn’t worth the risk, especially since she was going to eat any candy. I feel like the mom groups are a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you can connect with other moms during a time like this. On the other hand, you’re seeing moms have started living life basically how it used to be. Hanging around people who aren’t in their household, going to places that aren’t essential. They seem to not be afraid and it starts to make you wonder if you’re worrying too much. It was hard seeing moms post their pumpkin patch pictures, pictures of them walking their neighborhood. Doing things that I thought I would be doing, while my daughter and I just dressed up to take pictures and stay home. That day made me think about my daughter’s first year. It made me think about how she hasn’t met anyone outside my immediate family, been around babies her age, or even gone to the simplest of places, like the store. All while there are babies her age that are and had been doing these things, even in a pandemic. I started feeling major mom guilt, that maybe I’m depriving her, protecting her too much.
Flash forward again to the present day, there are four days left until Christmas. Another first holiday that I imagined differently. I imagined that it would be spent with her, her father, and me. Yet it’s not, for reasons I don’t want to dive into. It’s hard seeing my mom friends online talking about spending the holidays with their little families. Something I’ve always dreamed of and won’t be happening this year either. I’m trying my hardest to make it a magical time for my daughter regardless, and am grateful I have her to spend it with. It’s also frustrating seeing others gathering with extended family and even friends for the holidays, as things are getting worse in the US. It makes it feel as if things will never get better and this pandemic won’t end any time soon. My daughter’s first birthday is in March, and I’m still trying to accept that it will also be something that won’t go as I imagined. That being said that like all the other holidays, I will try to make it as special as possible.
Overall, this pandemic has made what was supposed to be one of the best years of my life, into something bittersweet. I won’t be able to remember the good this year without remembering the bad. The other day I found myself thinking about all things I would’ve done if life was still normal. That maybe my mental health wouldn’t be as bad, that I would be in better shape, that my relationship would be better. That my daughter would have friends her age, more experiences. I nearly cried today when I read her a book with pictures of other babies in it. A big smile went across her face and she waved at the baby and said hi, and it made me sad that it wasn’t a real interaction. I know that my daughter is unaware that life isn’t normal right now. This is all she has known, this is normal to her. She’s always smiling and laughing and just overall such a happy baby. I know she won’t remember how her first year went but, it doesn’t make it that much better.
Through all the negative I’ve felt I am so grateful for the positives I know some people have experienced a lot worse during this pandemic. I hold on to hope that one day these times will be just another story.
