The Pregdemic: new life in an uncertain time
When my daughter, Polly Jean, was born in September of 2018, I promptly threw her into the arms of everyone in my world. A photo series on my Instagram called “PJ & Friends” was up to 205 pictures of her with different people in no time. That’s a whole lot of loving arms, and something I took for granted pre-pandemic. Now, one year into our current reality, I find myself 27 weeks pregnant with another daughter and pondering how life will be different for her and for all the babies born in this time period. Not just in terms of physical contact, but in all the ways we’ve been shaken and forced to change course, maybe forever. The choice to become a mother, or not to become a mother, is one that doesn’t come without judgment and societal pressure. And with everything going on right now, getting to this decision has a whole new weight, individually and globally.
Baby booms and busts tend to follow economic trends, which would suggest there will be less babies born now. Also, people aren’t meeting in social gatherings that lead to, well, um, you know. And of course, job and financial security influence the decision to procreate or not. But for me, while in quarantine, suddenly I was forced to confront my immediate reality. There was something almost Buddhist about it. I had to drop my attachment to the future (travel and other distractions outside of my home) and live in the moment. What was most important to me as I carried on in my present, was family. I was lucky to be among the job secure, which I don’t say lightly, and it suddenly felt natural to grow our little cocoon. So, I had my IUD removed and got busy. Three months later, we were expecting.
I made a list of other friends who embarked on the fertility journey (or amped up the ones already in motion) during quarantine and came up with 13 names. If I think harder, there are more. My awareness of this trend began last March, when a friend and her partner came home from a pre-lockdown last hurrah in Hawaii with a poppyseed-sized souvenir growing in her uterus. Another bravely decided to stop looking for love (dating in a global pandemic is far from ideal) and try to get pregnant from a donor. This is with the hope that true partnership will follow down the road without the pressure of the biological clock. My best friend’s younger sister had a miscarriage, but then saw it as a blessing because it allowed her to get the COVID-19 vaccine (when we were still uncertain about vaccinating pregnant people) before she started trying again. A couple I know decided to use the sperm they froze in 2019 when cancer became a part of their reality and they faced an uncertain future. Another friend, who has been on the baby making journey for five long years, made the tough choice to try IVF, an expensive and incredibly taxing hormonal ordeal. And finally, after a few trips to the fertility clinic, my super-planner bestie was about to schedule in vitro but put it off when the pandemic hit, and then she ended up pregnant naturally. These varying stories all hold a person at the center who wants to bring a baby into this changing world, fueled by hope.
These are the pandemic warrior babies. The new life made while the world crumbles around us and we reckon with systemic racism, the climate crisis, unstable democracy, and half a million deaths in the U.S. alone from COVID-19. There is promise in this and there is a huge responsibility. These babies are born into their insulated bubbles without as much outside physical contact and with the weight of the world heavy on their little shoulders. We are at a turning point for meaningful change if opportunity is seized. It’s not all on them though. They are not born to clean up our messes. There’s much work to do, and wherever we find hope, it should be seized. I may not be able to do the same Instagram project with my next child, but maybe, just maybe, there is a greater phoenix rising. And my loved ones will safely hold my baby daughter soon enough.