A Labor of Love: Pregnancy and Postpartum in Isolation
Note: Since this article was written the NSW government has eased it’s Covid-19 lockdown restrictions.
Last year, when I found out I was pregnant with my third child, I burst into tears.
I have used my fair share of pregnancy tests over the years, and there’s always been that fleeting moment right before the result showup where you know it’s going to be negative. This time, however, I had a brief moment of dread and, just as I had thought, two lines presented, confirming I was indeed pregnant again.
Don’t get me wrong; we wanted more kids. Number three was always part of our plan;I just wasn’t ready for it right now. In fact, I was actively trying not to get pregnant. I had only had two periods since the birth of my second and I was using a diaphragm (as I have done successfully since being married and yes, the diaphragm has since been tossed into the bin).
The birth of my second son had thrown me and my parenting abilities for a bit of a loop. He was a bit more demanding than my first and, as many with two kids will understand, it was a huge transition going from one dependent to two. In truth, it had taken me a long time to adjust, I was just getting my life back to “normal”. I already have two young kids close together and was hoping for a little break. My body, still suffering from injuries from the last pregnancy, had more or less shrunk back to size and my willingness to say “yes” to social invitations had resurfaced. So as I watched those two little pink lines dictate to me the year ahead, I burst into tears, came downstairs and showed my (elated) husband, and cried into his arms. “I know I can do it…but I just don’t want to” was all I could say. I just didn’t want to do it. I cried over this feeling of entrapment for a solid week.
It was an emotional rollercoaster after that. While so grateful that I had fallen pregnant so easily when many people struggle, it was still hard for me to accept that I was being thrown into this again and with that came an enormous amount of guilt. However, as the weeks went on, I began to accept my new reality, and I rode the waves as best I could. As both of my previous pregnancies had been, this was also a hard pregnancy. My immunity was shot for most of the first half, and my physical struggles consumed me for the remainder. At the time, logistically my biggest concern was that I was due to have a baby three weeks out from Pesach (Passover), which I knew would be a huge, anxiety-inducing challenge. It would mean we would have to stay home rather than go on a planned program. It would mean I would have to sacrifice an already sleepless night for Seder nights with extended family, and it would require me to spend my first postpartum week's cleaning, shopping and preparing the house. Little did I know, by the time my due date arrived in March, that would be the least of my worries.
I am now at home with a two-week-old baby, a 21-month-old, a 3.5-year-old, a husband who is trying to work from home, no cleaners, no hired nanny and not even a family member to lend a hand. A reality for many mums regardless of a pandemic, I know, but not the postpartum experience I had imagined.
Fast forward nine or so months and I have given birth to a baby boy in the middle of a worldwide Pandemic; Covid-19. The entire planet has shut down it’s borders, the global economy has fallen to it’s knees, and our governments have ordered that we stay inside and self-isolate. So instead of my hopeful expectations to have an afternoon nanny, an extra day of cleaning and the older kids in daycare (all of which I know I am beyond privileged to be able to have) for these first months, I am now at home with a two-week-old baby, a 21-month-old, a 3.5-year-old, a husband who is trying to work from home, no cleaners, no hired nanny and not even a family member to lend a hand. A reality for many mums regardless of a pandemic, I know, but not the postpartum experience I had imagined. Three kids at home of varying ages is a lot, especially when having to deal with homeschooling, but having three babies under four at home is a hurricane, and maybe too much for a postpartum woman to bear.
So, here I am, mourning the loss of this time. I feel cheated and beyond feeling sad, scared and utterly shocked by this new reality, I am also selfishly missing the opportunity to ship the kids off to school so that I can come home and nap or go for walks to get coffee or wander around the shops (a prefered postpartum pastime). I can’t attack any of the home projects I thought I might accomplish. My days are overwhelmingly busy with mundane tasks like preparing snacks, breastfeeding, breaking up fights between siblings, monitoring (and failing) screen time, trying to think of activities that will keep the boys going for longer than 15 minutes. I think I hear the word “mum” more in one day than I have my entire 3.5 years as a mother. Naps are sometimes possible thanks to my husband being at home, but they are weighed down by the constant feeling that I “need to get back to it” so that he can work. Every morning I wake up and feel a heaviness in my chest. I dread the endurance race I am expected to run that day and every day. I have moments of not knowing how long I can live like this only to realise that I have no choice. No one has met my new baby in person, my mother hasn’t even met her newest grandson. There haven’t been any drop-ins or coffee dates. In fact, I cancelled his first check-up with the maternal health nurse after learning that Bondi Beach (where I live) was an epicentre for Coronavirus in Sydney. There was no big celebration for his bris/naming. The regular meal train that is usually booked for a good three to four weeks after giving birth is absent (I have had a few select friends bring us meals, which was life-saving on those days). To say that “The Village” is completely non-existent would be an understatement.
And to add insult to injury, in keeping the Jewish laws of Taharat haMishpacha (aka Niddah/family purity, which means until I attend the Mikvah ( ritual bath/ waters) during the postpartum period, my husband and I can’t touch. So I am utterly devoid of the physical human contact I need, which I am acutely aware must be creating some sort of hormonal or chemical imbalance inside of me. Humans need a loving embrace daily and postpartum women even more so. In what is already an extremely isolating time, I am completely and utterly isolated emotionally, mentally and physically aside from the sticky kisses and hugs i get from my kids. Covid-19 has ripped any semblance of normalacy from my family and I. It has obliterated any of the positives that I had come to manifest during the pregnancy.
Of course, the silver lining in all of this is my precious son- a welcome distraction from the world’s madness. A pure neshama (soul) sent to me during a time that will test all of us beyond measure. He is the third child I wasn’t ready for, but am overwhelmingly in love with. He is the child that everyone assured me would cast some kind of magic spell over me, whether I was ready for him or not (and they were right). He is what life is all about. And while I can’t be a perfect mother, wife, teacher, cleaner, chef or household leader during these times, I know that I can be especially aware of all of the blessings in my life during these times. I have shelter, I have my family, we have an income, and we have our health. Thank G-d we have our health.