On March 24, 2020, short of two weeks after the world being officially thrown into a pandemic, I shockingly walked a positive pregnancy test out to show Ray. Gone were the creative and sweet announcements of past pregnancies. But certainly not for lack of caring. We had officially been trying to get pregnant for a year and a half; unofficially trying for two and a half years. I had yearned for a sibling for Isabelle – two years apart in age if it could be planned (it couldn’t) – and squared myself with the possibility of her being an only child. So to say I was happy with a positive pregnancy test was an understatement to the nth degree. But, may I repeat, we were in the first weeks of a pandemic; during that time period when we were all convinced that we could quash this thing with just 2- 4 weeks of country-wide “isolation”. Going to the grocery store felt like walking into a contamination unit, so you can imagine the jumble of emotions I felt about being pregnant, now, during all of this.
Ray and I shared an excited hug. I think I spent a day in overjoyed shock; and then suddenly realized I couldn’t remember how to be pregnant. My first second third pregnancy was under the watchful care of the Utah Fertility Center, where I was immediately prescribed progesterone, baby aspirin, and regular ultrasounds. This time, I hadn’t been able to bear the infertility process, so instead, we sort of hoped and stayed away from the Center. But I called them and said, “Hey, so, I’m pregnant, and last time you guys gave me an ultrasound and progesterone, and I know this isn’t the way to do things, but… can I do that again? despite the pandemic?” I got the appointment.
In the meantime, Ray and I panicked with realization that now we needed a bigger house – how very first world of us, huh? Our little two bedroom home with the skinny, pivoting hallways and relentlessly damp basement needed an upgrade to fit four people and a large dog. So we began carpet-shopping and house-shopping – why not throw a house-hunting experience on top of everything else, right? But we were fortunate enough to both be working from home throughout the months of April and May, the housing interest rates had plummeted, and people were still unsure of what would happen to the housing market during the pandemic (spoiler alert: it would quickly and intensely expand into an absurd bubble), so we were very lucky to be searching at the right moment.
My appointment at the Utah Fertility Center arrived April 13th, and I got the extreme pleasure of hearing a heartbeat and seeing a perfect little fetus. We were on our way. The months passed quickly. We updated our 9th West home, closed on our beautiful OHenry home on June 18th, moved in (and out) on July 4th, sold our first home on July 12th, and found out we were having a girl(at an anatomy scan I had to attend solo while Facetime-ing Ray) on July 15th.
We had re-enrolled Isabelle, after two months of home school, in June, and moved her to a new school campus in August. She was such a rockstar throughout all the upheaval we were throwing her way. The resiliency of kids is something we so often take for granted, but I would have to stop and catch my breath sometimes at how gloriously she shined despite the world’s craziness. From the moment we told her she would have a little brother or sister soon, she knew she was having a sister. I was relieved to give her what she was convinced she already had.
After a few months of settling into a new home and neighborhood, preparing a nursery, and looking forward to the holidays, I got a positive COVID test on Oct 13th. It was a thankfully mild case, so after several days of coughing and congestion (by the way, did you know the symptoms of Covid and pregnancy are shockingly similar…?), we just had to get through 24 days of quarantine together as a family. We spent our Halloween season hunkered down and giving Isabelle as much spooky joy as we could. Family and friends came through for us in a big way, delivering care packages and kind messages. Baby girl continued to move and kick and grow. I had to give myself Lovenox injections daily for two weeks to protect against possible blood-clotting (honestly, I am not cut out for giving myself shots; it was the freaking worst. Shout out to “real” infertility babes out there who put themselves through months and months of it – you’re the real rockstars.) We made it out the other end of quarantine with two and a half weeks til baby-time.
Because of my positive Covid encounter, my OB ordered an ultrasound to be sure baby was healthy, well, and unaffected – so I got the absolute treat of another sneak peek at my baby, something I treasured in the midst of limited appointments and in-person doctor’s visits. It turns out, baby girl was measuring small. Like, real small. Isabelle was born rather small, at 6lb 8 oz, so a small baby was something I’m not unfamiliar with, but still, the doctor wanted to be sure it wasn’t a Covid complication. So I scheduled two stress tests over the next two weeks – both of which went perfectly (bonus: I got to rest in a comfy chair and read for 30 minutes out of my work day). So baby girl was small, but well. I bought a preemie-sized coming home outfit with my mom. We were ready.
Earlier in my pregnancy, I had decided to schedule a c-section. For a long time, I believed I might be cut out for a VBAC. With Isabelle, I had planned for an unmedicated birth – but that all fell to crap. And maybe it was the realization that absolutely nothing about children, from conception, to birth, to life, is within my control or prediction, and maybe it was an intense reaction to the massive change in the rest of my life, but I just needed something within my control. I needed a plan. I needed my baby’s birthday to not fall on a future Thanksgiving Day. And so, I picked November 21, 2020 – the absolute earliest day I could have gotten the c-section, with a near guarantee that I wouldn’t go into spontaneous labor and so everything was within my control – for once!
In the early morning hours of Nov 21, we packed up my car with the dog and Ray’s car with the 3 year old. Mabel, not liking her newly-demoted status to rear-of-the-car, hopped over the rear seat and then had to desperately find a place between two child seats for her massive body. She settled on Isabelle’s car seat, and I laughed and laughed. Ray dropped Isa at Aubree’s house, and I dropped Mabel at my parents’ house, along with my car which my dad was outfitting with a net to keep Mabel from being so ridiculous again. And then off to LDS Hospital we went.
We checked in, got the basic vitals done, and waited, me dressed in a hospital gown and already stuck in a bed, for our doctor and anesthesiologist (there was some sort of delay which was not important enough to remember other than to stretch my nerves). My OB, Dr. Laine, was out with Covid. I’d found out a few days earlier, and made the decision to move forward with my scheduled date (I cannot let go of my threads of control!) and a different OB – whose name I don’t actually remember, but she was kind and competent. Things moved forward smoothly, from a 7:45am check-in, through the long wait, past the spinal block/epidural which I’m sure I got but I’ve neatly blocked out, to an operating room where both Ray and I were fully masked and covered.
I asked whether I’d be able to do some form of skin-to-skin immediately after the c-section – it was a long shot ask, considering the pandemic and the nature of a c-section, and the answer was ultimately no. So I steeled myself again to send Ray off for those first precious moments with our new baby girl, me being helplessly tugged and stitched together on a table. But this time, I had a line of sight to my sweet baby. And they brought her to me quickly after the perfunctory checks and encouraged me to remove my mask so I could kiss my sweet baby’s head as she laid next to me. Our sweet Lilith Anning was with us, and it was beautiful.
I fell in love with Lilith almost immediately. Some magical combination of preparation – for the c-section, her birth date, the likelihood that breastfeeding wouldn’t work, my knowledge of the healing process and babies in general – that preparation allowed me to be there, with her, in the hospital, in peace. I wasn’t tired from laboring, I wasn’t scared of the healing from my operation, I asked for supplemental formula right up front, and I had the space to be in awe and love with this precious new person. She slept well and fed well – we slept (hospital)-well, ate (hospital)-well. I practiced walking and showering and bled out in all the worst postpartum ways. We spent a little over 48 hours in the hospital, with a beautiful view of the Capitol building, Facetimed Isabelle, posted photos, and soaked in as much peace as could be had.
Isabelle got her first big moment of big-sister-hood on the afternoon of November 23rd. She rushed straight to the couch where Lil slept, and gently grabbed hold of Lil’s hand with a big beaming smile on her face. Isabelle swept the hair on Liliith’s head and talked to her baby sister, and my heart just about burst. We practiced holding for a moment and Isa bent her head and softly kissed Lil’s forehead. Honestly, is there anything better than watching your children get to know each other? I longed for another child not really for myself, but because I longed for Isabelle to have a sibling. I longed for her to have the kind of joy I experience with my own siblings. Now that I’ve been witness to ten and a half months of sisterhood, I rejoice not only for Isabelle, but for the experience Lilith gets to have in her big sister.
Lilith has been a challenge and a joy, in different ways from her sister, but in no less or more ease. From a distance of several months, it’s easy to say that her newborn months were idyllic. I allowed myself to stop breastfeeding at a week postpartum and to stop pumping at a month postpartum. I challenged myself to make Thankgiving dinner five days after a c-section. I (perhaps stupidly, but no less necessarily) worked throughout the entirety of my maternity leave – and to be honest, it probably preserved much of my sanity to have something that grounded me to my personhood.
We gave Lil the name Lilith Anning because we wanted a strong, powerful name for a girl born into exceptionally difficult and tumultuous times. We wanted her to look in the face of patriarchy and demand that she would not be a helpmeet. We wanted her to use her intelligence and passion to make a mark on the world that could not be erased in spite of everyone’s best efforts. We wanted her to rejoice in womanhood and embrace her power. We have big dreams for her, and I’ve been amused to find her more content to sit and watch instead of move and shake. She observes – not in weakness; no, her shout could wake the world – but learning, absorbing. Her laughs take more work than I’ve seen in any baby, but her smiles are easy, kind, and for everyone. She is a world of mystery that I can’t wait to see unfold. Lil, my girl, you are perfect.
