Things You Only Know If You Became A Solo Parent During The Pandemic

When my dad and I pulled up outside the hospital, it was the early hours of the morning. He helped me to the door, where a masked nurse explained that he couldn’t come in, even to carry my bag. I don’t recall much about dragging it awkwardly to the lift and pausing for a contraction, but I do remember the worried look on Dad’s face when he kissed me goodbye. It was April, the peak of Covid-19, and I was about to give birth alone.

When I chose to conceive a baby solo, using donor sperm, I knew it would be far from easy. But that was before the global pandemic that broke out just as I went on maternity leave, leaving its mark on every aspect of the experience. Aside from the love I have for my beautiful little boy, thanks to the coronavirus, new motherhood has been nothing at all like I envisaged.

As the expectant mother of a spring baby, I’d been looking forward to sunny afternoons sitting outside cafés with friends. But then the world changed, and so did my plans.

READ MORE: Coronavirus: This Is What It’s Like To Give Birth In Lockdown

My pre-birth nerves were magnified by the apocalyptic surreality that suddenly coloured everything, particularly during antenatal appointments, where the hospital entrance was guarded to ensure patients went in by themselves. Pregnant women were told we were in the category deemed highest risk and I couldn’t help picturing what might happen if I, or my baby, became ill.

My parents, who’d planned to travel down to London from Yorkshire shortly before the birth, dropped everything to make it in time for lockdown, little knowing that they’d be sharing my two-bedroom flat with me and a newborn for the next four months. Rather than a chance to make new friends, the NCT breastfeeding course I’d booked became a Zoom session. Then the doulas I’d hired as my birthing partners told me they weren’t comfortable coming with me to the hospital. I understood their reasons but, as my due date approached, my stress levels soared.

Several friends offered to step in but, in the end, events unfolded so quickly there wasn’t time to call them. Sensing something was wrong shortly after labour began, I arrived at the hospital where I was told I’d need an emergency C-section. What felt like moments later, I was in the operating theatre with no hand to hold while my son Nat was born, before he was immediately whisked away to intensive care after suffering breathing difficulties.

I remember the next five days in hospital like a bad dream: hazily, as if I’m not quite sure they really happened. Thankfully, Nat recovered well, but Covid rules meant there were no visitors to ease the long hours as I waited, scared and disorientated, for him to be brought to my bedside. I tried to be as brave as everyone said I was for going it alone, but I’ve never felt more vulnerable or lonely.

If new motherhood makes your old life feel like a skin you’ve suddenly shed, embarking on it during lockdown left even fewer familiar remnants. As a single woman, I’d looked forward to cocooning Nat in love from my wide group of friends, but none were able to visit. Even now, months on, only a handful have met him, mostly at a distance in parks. Meanwhile, the couple of friendships I’ve managed to make with other new mums have been conducted over WhatsApp, instead of coffee or wine.

Before I had him, I’d laughed at the idea of baby yoga and sensory classes that looked like bad acid trips. Baby cinema seemed most ludicrous of all: how could you possibly watch a film with a bunch of crying infants in the room? Now, of course, I realise they give mums a change of scenery and a chance to bond with other mums, and I wish I’d had the chance to experience them instead of spending most of my maternity leave at home. I know Nat would enjoy expanding his little world beyond the very few new people – mostly mask-wearing medical professionals – he’s encountered and feel sad he hasn’t yet had the chance.

But what has redeemed this time for both Nat and me has been my parents. I’d never expected to be so dependent on them for so long, but once the first lockdown eased, I wasn’t ready to manage on my own, particularly as Nat wasn’t – and still isn’t – a fan of sleeping. More importantly, I realised how lovely it was for them to have spent so much time with him from the very start of his life, and how much he was benefiting from their constant, adoring presence.

We’re currently living with them at my childhood home in Yorkshire, where it’s easier not to focus on the Covid chaos. Early next year, Nat and I will return home, hopefully just as some normality is resuming. After the first few strange months of his life, I’m so much more excited to show him everything the world has to offer, baby yoga classes and all.