Pandemic Baby: Motherhood in the Time of COVID-19
Photo by Mylaina McMurray.
By Aliza Berlin
I used to feel mournful when I heard stories about people who were never able to fulfill their potential. Nothing was more heartbreaking than wasted time and wilted dreams. I have seen a lot of that in the past few years, and as the constant images of people turning on each other have flooded my screens, I have found myself retreating further into the safety of my home bubble.
I became a mom during a pandemic. My baby is one who has been referred to as a “pandemic baby.”
In some cases, moms have become a bit more resilient, a bit more anxious, and a bit lonelier during this time. It is our job to fill the voids where grandma’s lullabies would have soothed our little ones to sleep. We have had to work twice as hard to make our babies laugh in the silly way that they would have shared with cousins and friends.
We have had to remind ourselves that our kids rely on the capacity of our love to make up for the shortcomings of the world around them. This pandemic has taught me that somehow to be human means, “to be flawed, to try one’s best, to misalign potential, to love, to hate, to feel lonely during shared experiences, to yearn for connections.”
When I became a mother, I realized that every person is an accumulation of love. Love as sadness, love as longing, love as hope. Love that has been passed down from generations and is the embodiment of our humanity and the beauty of our vulnerability.
When I look back at this time, I wonder if I will think that living during a pandemic has changed me forever. I wonder if the lessons I have learned will remain significant or if like many others, I will try to get back to “normal” as soon as possible, but what is “normal” in a world where millions of lives have been lost and where everyone has been touched by this tragedy in some way?
Sometimes I envy moms who were able to experience the freedoms of raising their children in a world where they did not have to social distance for longer than the time that it took their baby’s immune system to handle kisses and cuddles from people other than Mom and Dad. I envy that they could have received support during the early months when sleep was scarce and sanity was questioned.
Photo by Diana Jex.
In 2020, I walked myself down the aisle. I blew kisses to my loved ones through a Zoom call that was hosted on my cell phone. I longed for my family as I stared at their smiling faces on a tiny screen that was holstered to a tripod. By the time I gave birth to my daughter, we were well-versed in sharing special moments in this way. When she cries from sadness, fear, loneliness, or even just from being hungry after waiting two hours from her last meal, I tell her things that I wish that I could tell myself. “It’s okay to cry, but you are safe. You are fed/you will be fed. Mommy loves you. Daddy loves you. You are not alone.” I repeat these sentences to her like a mantra, and I thank her for her patience as I navigate and try to understand her needs.
For this short time, we are each other’s world. I care for her and in exchange I get to be her mom. Although I long for a future with less uncertainty, I am overjoyed that I have loved with my whole heart during a pandemic, even if at times it has felt broken. I have loved and my love will continue to expand forever after through her.
Photo courtesy of Aliza Berlin.
Aliza Berlin is the Administrative Assistant for Nevada Humanities. She is a first-time mom to her daughter, Eden. She and her husband, Scott, live in northern Nevada. They enjoy taking Eden for walks with their dog, Zenith, and they are looking forward to spending time with their extended family in the summer.