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Unprecedented

1
To my baby at six months old.

Half a year of wonderful you. It is not just our own little world that has changed beyond all recognition.

You will become bored of hearing the story of how your arrival coincided almost perfectly with the onset of a global pandemic. But humour your mum, will you.

Of all the worries that had passed through my mind while you were in my belly, this is one I could not prepare for. My anxious brain had not pre-prepared a solution or emergency plan for this. The pregnancy yoga classes, the “your baby is the size of a

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2
grapefruit this week” apps, the hypnobirthing tapes and the birth podcasts did not include any advice on how to navigate having a tiny newborn during a national lockdown.

Your due date came and went, as the whole country was instructed to Stay at Home. Stay relaxed. No mixing with other households. Do things that make you laugh. Wash your hands to the tune of “Happy Birthday” twice. Try a long walk. Keep two metres apart. Keep that oxytocin flowing.

Sensible you stayed put for another week, reluctantly arriving into this world with some

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intervention and a short stay in the Neonatal unit.

When I think about everything that you went through in order to be here, and how starkly different it almost turned out, I go cold. I used to dwell on it when we first took you home to our tiny flat, me still riding the wave of crashing pregnancy hormones, cuddles from my own mum officially banned; I couldn’t stop picturing you in your little Perspex cot all alone on your first night out here in the world, while I was a few floors up on the postnatal ward, waking up to the cacophony of brand new

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4
baby cries, none of them coming from my own precious bundle. But now, I can barely reconcile that dependent little creature with the curious, bouncy and hilariously funny little character I spend my days with.

I would obsess over the daily infection rates, desperately hoping the rules would loosen so that we could pass you around family like we’d always pictured – “look what we made!”. I wanted to preserve you as my tiny little curled-up newborn, desperate for your grandparents to experience you sleeping on their chests, breathing in that

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heady smell. I wanted to parade you around in your brand-new pram, collecting admiring looks and compliments from old dears. All of these things brought me such joy when they were finally possible, and still do.

Some things still aren’t possible, and it is hard to imagine when, even if, they will be.

You came hurtling into our world against a backdrop of utter chaos. And happily, our lives will never be the same.

 

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- 18 Oct 20

To my baby at six months old.

Half a year of wonderful you. It is not just our own little world that has changed beyond all recognition.

You will become bored of hearing the story of how your arrival coincided almost perfectly with the onset of a global pandemic. But humour your mum, will you.

Of all the worries that had passed through my mind while you were in my belly, this is one I could not prepare for. My anxious brain had not pre-prepared a solution or emergency plan for this. The pregnancy yoga classes, the “your baby is the size of a grapefruit this week” apps, the hypnobirthing tapes and the birth podcasts did not include any advice on how to navigate having a tiny newborn during a national lockdown.

Your due date came and went, as the whole country was instructed to Stay at Home. Stay relaxed. No mixing with other households. Do things that make you laugh. Wash your hands to the tune of “Happy Birthday” twice. Try a long walk. Keep two metres apart. Keep that oxytocin flowing.

Sensible you stayed put for another week, reluctantly arriving into this world with some intervention and a short stay in the Neonatal unit.

When I think about everything that you went through in order to be here, and how starkly different it almost turned out, I go cold. I used to dwell on it when we first took you home to our tiny flat, me still riding the wave of crashing pregnancy hormones, cuddles from my own mum officially banned; I couldn’t stop picturing you in your little Perspex cot all alone on your first night out here in the world, while I was a few floors up on the postnatal ward, waking up to the cacophony of brand new baby cries, none of them coming from my own precious bundle. But now, I can barely reconcile that dependent little creature with the curious, bouncy and hilariously funny little character I spend my days with.

I would obsess over the daily infection rates, desperately hoping the rules would loosen so that we could pass you around family like we’d always pictured – “look what we made!”. I wanted to preserve you as my tiny little curled-up newborn, desperate for your grandparents to experience you sleeping on their chests, breathing in that heady smell. I wanted to parade you around in your brand-new pram, collecting admiring looks and compliments from old dears. All of these things brought me such joy when they were finally possible, and still do.

Some things still aren’t possible, and it is hard to imagine when, even if, they will be.

You came hurtling into our world against a backdrop of utter chaos. And happily, our lives will never be the same.

 

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