My third trimester started off like most. I was slowing way down in all ways, and beginning to nest. And then another thing happened that was out of my control: A pandemic. News began to appear that COVID-19 was spreading.
The last month of my pregnancy, NYC started to get really affected by the coronavirus, and the world was changing rapidly. Businesses were shutting down, including the fitness studio where I was teaching, and wearing a mask was becoming the new normal. Social distancing happened what seemed like overnight, and shelter-in-place was in full swing. (These are words and phrases I would come to resent during my pregnancy, and later had to make peace with.)
At this point in NYC, postpartum visitors were banned from the hospital, in addition to support people for labor and delivery (spouses, doulas, etc.). The changes were happening so fast, and my due date was set for the predicted peak week of the virus.
My doctor prepared me for the worst, and we even contemplated inducing me early so my husband could be in the room. It already felt unfair that my family wouldn’t get to meet my baby, but potentially not having my husband with me and our child was unthinkable.