To my unborn child: Even in lockdown, I know we've got this

While your dad and I were staring slack-jawed at two lines on a pregnancy test in January this year, a new virus was just starting to make headlines around the world.

By the end of the month almost 8,000 people globally had been diagnosed with coronavirus or Covid-19, a deadly viral strain of flu that doctors had never seen before and it was spreading fast. 

I spent the last few weeks of winter hibernating, clutching a hot water bottle to my bloated belly and imagining what life was going to look like for us as a family of four.

As a journalist, news of the virus was unavoidable, but as much as I could I tried to stay calm in our new baby love bubble.

I was feeling nauseous and exhausted. All normal for the first trimester, but if I gave it enough thought I could match some symptoms to the virus and spiral into anxiety. I tried to rest in between work and caring for your brother. ‘We’re safe, we’re loved, we have everything we need,’ I repeated as a mantra for us.

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As Spring arrived, I was looking forward to feeling better and getting back to a busy life, visiting family and exploring our rural market town in the warmer weather. But things were changing quickly. By the time of your first scan on March 16, our local hospital was treating Covid-19 patients.

We drove up to the antenatal wards past new rows of white triage tents. And in the waiting room your dad placed his antibac-ed hand in mine as we waited to see you for the first time. The sonographer started her work and your grainy image bounced onto the screen.

‘Look here to see the heartbeat,’ she said and I forgot everything else that was going on outside of that room.

That fluttering light, your new life, was all that mattered. 

Exactly one week later the country was put into lockdown and the hospital we’d visited had recorded its first coronavirus death. I couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling when the government announced pregnant women were now included on the list of people considered most vulnerable to the virus.

At night in bed I’d try to still my thoughts and worries and focus only on you and me but everything had changed so quickly I felt overwhelmed with worry and conflicting information. Then strict measures were put in place for women attending antenatal appointments and labour wards.

Next time I went to an appointment the midwives and medical staff would be wearing masks and I would have to go alone.

As it stands, women can now only have one birth partner for support in the final stages of their labour. This means facing hours of painful contractions and uncertainty alone.

I am still months away from labour but I feel tearful just imagining it. The news is so full of grief and shocking figures. I need family support now more than ever.

I remember the 20-week scan so vividly from my first pregnancy almost three years ago. My favourite part was watching the wide-eyed wonder of your dad as the sonographer looked in detail at your brother’s healthy heart, brain and spinal cord.

This time, I waited alone to hear if your medical checks had come back okay – they did, thankfully. I felt safe, but it was odd to be told we were having another baby boy without anyone to share the moment with.

I have trust that in these vulnerable moments I am able to call on the strength of my mothering instinct to take over. And, just like last time, the rest of the world disappeared when you popped up on the screen.

No matter what the rest of this journey looks like, I know we’ve got this. It’s just me and you, kid.

The loving, protective bond I already have for you and our family is the most important and unshakeable thing I have to hold on to right now.

When you arrive in September I don’t know if you will be showered in the same hugs and kisses your brother experienced from your smitten grandparents and our amazing friends.

So much is unknown, but I never question my deep love and instinct to protect you. I will do whatever it takes. 

LETTERS FROM LOCKDOWN

If there was one letter you could write during this time of shielding, social distancing and self-isolation, what would you want to say?

In this new limited series, Metro.co.uk are sharing the notes people have been inspired to write by their own lockdown experience.

If you would like to contribute, please email claie.wilson@metro.co.uk with the subject: Letters From Lockdown