A pandemic pregnancy
Photography James Burt
Two pink lines on a plastic stick and a deadly virus spreading throughout the world. Ellie Stewart PREPARES to give birth in unprecedented times
I found out I was pregnant six days after lockdown began.
I stood in the bathroom, holding a Boots own-brand pregnancy test, and looked at the two pink lines. Out in the hallway, my husband James was heading to the kitchen to heat up some soup. I showed him the test.
“I’m pregnant,” I said.
We couldn’t process it: two pink lines on a plastic stick, a deadly virus spreading throughout the world, and Boris had just told us to stay shut in our homes and —
We were going to have a baby.
The baby was very much wanted and very much planned. We waited until February of this year to start trying, to give me time to finish my Masters in creative and life writing. We didn’t think I’d get pregnant right away. And then I did.
As the cells divided in my womb, the world was changing beyond recognition. Women across the world suddenly found themselves navigating pregnancy and birth in unprecedented times. In the UK, partners were not allowed to attend scans and appointments and, at many hospitals, birth partners were not allowed to be by a woman’s side until she was in active labour, and had to leave soon after the birth. While some of these measures have recently been lifted, many are still in place despite lockdown rules easing.
Never, for a single second, did I think I wouldn’t be able to see anyone when I got pregnant. I thought I’d be telling friends and family our news in person: eyes widening, tears welling, big hugs and wonderful warm feelings. Instead we sat on the sofa and told people via Zoom. I sent voice notes, when video calls and the symptoms of early pregnancy became too much.
It was the exhaustion that floored me, and I hadn’t expected it. I would sleep for nine hours a night and still wake up feeling like I’d had two hours sleep, was in the wrong time zone and had a heavy hangover.
Sometimes I’d lie on the sofa all day. Sometimes my daily exercise meant dragging myself to the communal gardens and flopping on the grass like a seal for 10 minutes. I hated not being able to do anything. But I was also so thankful that I didn’t need to go anywhere.
Ché Dyer, 35, a yoga teacher based in Tooting, felt similarly during her pregnancy: “I actually really enjoyed being in quarantine in the early phases of pregnancy as there was absolutely no pressure to see people, attend social gatherings or do anything other than simply be at home,” she said.
“When my energy was really low, I felt it was truly a blessing that I was also able to teach my regular yoga classes from the comfort of my home — and could easily crawl back to the couch to recuperate!”
But I also found the first few months very lonely. I wanted to go to yoga classes and women’s circles and support groups, but everything was on Zoom. Connecting with other mums-to-be in person is such an important part of this journey: to share this experience with the only other people who can truly understand. It’s a lot harder to make friends when you’re all small squares on a screen.
The biggest disappointment was having to go to scans and antenatal appointments on my own. I was so anxious before the 12-week scan; I was terrified there’d be no baby in my womb. I had to go into the hospital on my own, with James waiting outside in the carpark. I laughed with joy and relief when I saw the little being stretch its back on the screen.
At the second scan, I asked the sonographer to write down the gender on a folded piece of paper. We took it home and opened it on the sofa together. “It is a boy,” it read.
I’ve been lucky to still have my midwife appointments in person. At some hospitals, until very recently, antenatal appointments (except for scans) all took place over the phone.
Clarence*, 30, is a senior policy and external affairs executive based in London. She only saw her midwife for the first time when she was 32 weeks pregnant. “Having all my appointments before that over the phone made it more difficult to ask questions,” she said. “It had to be me leading the conversation and if I didn’t know what questions to ask, I didn’t get the info. I found this frustrating. And with my husband not being able to come to scans, it feels like we haven’t been able to share something amazing.”
On top of this lack of support, pregnant women and new mums have to contend with the anxiety around the virus itself, constantly assessing the risk of catching Covid-19 and how it could affect our babies.
The current advice for pregnant women in the third trimester is to be “particularly attentive to social distancing and minimise any contact with others.” I am always weighing up the mental health benefits of socialising with other people with the risk of contracting the virus and putting my baby in danger. Am I offending people by not hugging them? Is going to a yoga studio a safe activity or a risky indulgence? Going to a hen do in the evening didn’t feel right, but I’ve been for several pub lunches with family.
Is there any logic to this? Can any of us make any logical decisions around this? Am I being a paranoid, hormonal pregnant woman, or am I doing the best I can in an unprecedented situation to protect my unborn child, while also prioritising my need for social connection? I know it’s the latter but sometimes an inner voice tells me I’m being irrational.
Now that I’m 35 weeks pregnant, I’m thankful I can connect with people in person. My body has become a gauge for people to measure time and how long we’ve been affected by coronavirus — especially now my belly is growing fast.
“Gosh, hasn’t it gone quick!” they say.
“Not for me,” I say, remembering the past seven months.
My pregnancy has been a goddamn rollercoaster that’s stopped and started and plummeted down and then rushed up and emerged from a dark tunnel into glorious sunshine. I’m trying to steady myself by keeping my eyes on the sky, on the trees, now turning golden in the autumn light. Who knows what the world will be like when this baby arrives?
*Some names have been changed to preserve anonymity.
Ellie Stewart is a writer based in south-west London. Her life writing has recently appeared in Goldfish Anthology, The Mechanics' Institute Review and the anthology Cyber Smut.
