Before the coronavirus, expectant mothers relied on support from family and friends to help them recover from painful deliveries and adapt to unpredictable life with a newborn. Now many parents have to go it alone and make gut-wrenching decisions:
Is a home birth less risky? Who will take care of the kids if your partner is with you at the hospital? Should you allow visitors to help with the laundry, or struggle to do it yourself to limit your exposure to others?
The New York Times asked parents to tell us how they are coping. We heard from more than 800 readers in at least two dozen states and five countries. Here are some of their stories and advice for new mothers, edited for length and clarity.
‘There are some silver linings for somebody who is a single mom.’
Emily, 37, a manager at a Maryland state office, delivered her first child, Romero, at home. She asked that her full name not be used.
I had planned a home birth since I was five minutes pregnant. When I first started telling people I was planning this, before the pandemic, I was getting comments like, “Are you sure you are safe?” Now people are asking, “Can I get the contact information?”
I set up an aerial yoga hammock in what was once my dinning room. I set up my space that I’ve been calling the “birth gym.” I was in labor with him for two days and 17 hours. There was a point in labor when I ran out of contractions and we had the conversation: Should we go to the hospital? At that point if they saw me and the baby’s position, they would most likely give me a C-section. The midwives gave me homeopathic stuff, and then they coached me with my mom through two hours of squats. I had a very deep level of trust in the midwives because I went through hours of preparation and training.
I felt the risk of exposure from going to hospital would’ve been higher. Because of the way that the hospital takes precautions, I could only have one person with me, excluding the midwives. I was worried about being separated from my baby.
My partner, he’s sort of a friendly sperm donor. He’s in a high-risk profession, so he’s not safe to see the baby. I have to weigh the risk of someone coming in and being exposed versus hemorrhaging because I carried too much laundry downstairs versus the risk of the baby getting an infection because the laundry didn’t get done because I couldn’t carry it.
There are some silver linings for somebody who is a single mom because all of a sudden everyone needs accommodations. The possibility that I could telework for longer, and then be able to breastfeed and not have to put him in day care too young, has increased.
Advice to mothers:
You got to trust your own judgment as a mom. As a parent, you are the most in tune to what the best decision for your kid is.
‘I’m grieving the postpartum that I could have had.’
Carly Buxton, 35, a market researcher in Virginia, delivered, Callum, her second child, at a hospital.
I became a postpartum doula after the birth of my first child, and I had such high hopes for how I wanted to call on my village of support this time around. But instead, it’s all FaceTime kisses and waves through glass porch doors.
I’m grieving the postpartum that I could have had. I’m grieving the fact that I could’ve had time with my husband while my daughter was at preschool. He’s barely able to hold the baby because he’s running around with a toddler. I’m grieving my parents who have only met the new baby three times. On top of that, I have guilt because our situation is so much better than others. We are able to order and pay for groceries. There’s all this stuff I should be thankful for, but not being able to be thankful for it makes it worse. There’s this persistent fear that we’re not in the clear. We mothers who are delivering babes right now — this is history-making.
Advice to mothers:
Connect to people you can trust who are knowledgeable and skilled in this field who can walk you through your decision-making process. People are scrambling right now to build virtual support networks. Be open to that kind of stuff. It doesn’t feel the same. Try to laugh.
‘I didn’t really get to feel my baby’s skin or kiss her until we were discharged.’
Danielle Galiano, 33, an I.T. consultant in New Jersey, delivered Céleste, her second child, at a hospital.
There was anxiety, and we had to mark hard decisions. Each step of the way our birth plan started to change. We couldn’t bring our daughter with us, so we had to have our parents come help. Our doctor told us given Covid-19, a C-section would be more optimal, so we could plan for all doctors to be there. It was a bit surreal giving birth with a mask and surgical gear. I didn’t really get to feel my baby’s skin or kiss her until we were discharged.
I went once a week to doctor’s appointments with masks — people were being tested in their cars outside.
We’ve tried to stock up as much as we can, but it’s always a lingering concern. For example, I’m breastfeeding and I needed a nipple shield. Thank God we found it on Target. We buy certain things in advance, but we are also trying not to stockpile because it adds to the issues everyone is facing.
Advice to mothers:
I’m lucky I have a supportive loving partner doing this with me. If you really sit and think, it can get overwhelming. Try to concentrate on your baby and doing the best you can.
‘It is akin, I imagine, to having a baby in post-apocalyptic times.’
Lindsey Gordon, 33, a former bar manager in New Orleans, delivered her first child, Atlas, at a hospital.
My doctor insisted I be induced on my due date because she was worried about waiting any longer with the current pandemic scare. I was only allowed one person with me throughout the entire birthing process. I conceded to be induced entirely against my wishes but in times like these, you do what you have to do. I was calm until the baby arrived — seemingly healthy and perfect. Now I am a pile of nerves and fear. No one is allowed to see our baby. It is heartbreaking that his grandparents won’t get to hold him for the foreseeable future. It is akin, I imagine, to having a baby in post-apocalyptic times. Everything is surreal, scary and weird — searching for a sense of normalcy is a futile endeavor.
My post-op appointment at two weeks was a video call. I’m shoving my C-section scar in my phone camera. I cannot imagine having medical issues post-up right now. I had to buy an infant scale to avoid having to go back in, because he’s got weight issues.
There’s only so much you can do remotely. It was a terrible problem with the whole breastfeeding thing. I found it exponentially more difficult than the C-section. I’ve tried several times to get in touch with my lactation specialist to no avail.
Advice to mothers:
Do the best you can. Be as strong as you can. It’s hard. Try to focus on health and the baby and yourself — that’s really all that matters.
‘No one has met her. No one’s going to meet her.’
Emily Fazio, 33, a teacher in Illinois, delivered Josie, her second child, at a hospital.
I had no idea what my nurses actually looked like. They were all in P.P.E., We joked, “Oh, I’ll run into you in the grocery store, and I won’t know that was you.” There were no visitors. My husband was able to come in with me. We showed up to the E.R. in the middle of night. They screened us outside the building to make sure we were asymptomatic. It was a lot of precautions. I felt safe. We were discharged after 24 hours, which they normally don’t do.
No one has met her. No one’s going to meet her. My grandparents looked at the baby in the driveway and left, so that we didn’t potentially expose them after we’d been in the hospital.
These last few weeks have been very difficult, but life with a newborn (and a toddler) are always difficult. Is it more difficult because we haven’t had anyone to come hold the baby and play with the toddler so we can shower or nap? Of course. But with some hindsight and some memories of what it was like after our first was born, this period is difficult no matter what, and I don’t know that any changed circumstances would make it much easier.
Postpartum recovery is not pretty. For the first couple of days, Maggie, the toddler, was sad I couldn’t lift her up — it physically hurt. Between that and the baby, she was feeling rejected. It’s hard to say, “No, Mama can’t pick you up. Ask Daddy right now.” We’re just doing that right now and without help.
You go through a lot of toilet paper postpartum, too because you go to the bathroom, at least if you have a vaginal delivery. I’m supposed to be giving vitamin D drops, but don’t have them because of delays in procuring.
Advice to mothers:
The most important thing is that your babies feel love. So, even on days that are tough, when I lose my patience, when I’m so tired I’m just running on steam, when nothing on my to-do list has been done, I’ve been trying to ground myself in that: My babies know that I love them. That’s what matters most. I’m just doing the best I can.
