To be fair, it wasn’t even the middle of the pandemic. It was the very beginning. It was before we knew what we were truly dealing with. But right after we knew enough to lock everything down.
Everyone was scared. Unsure. Nervous. People stayed home. We didn’t leave unless we absolutely had to.

There was fear and guilt and what felt like the weight of the world on my shoulders.
And then you were born. In the midst of all that chaos and confusion. You were a bright spot in a terrifying world. And even though we were all home. All of the time. It was lonely.

We didn’t get to celebrate you like we wanted. We didn’t get to show you off to our friends and family. You didn’t get to meet anyone for months. There were no quiet mornings when everyone was at school and MDO. We didn’t get to nap our days away. I didn’t get to BE with you like I did with your brothers. I was pulled in 80 directions all the time. Overwhelmed. Lonely. Anxious. Sad.
And laced with guilt.

You didn’t care, of course. Everything you needed was in the house with you. You were surrounded by love and laughter, and a little crying, by us all, every day. Your brothers spent hours studying you and showing off all of their most prized possessions and reading to you and generally being the proud big brothers they are.
But the guilt was still there.

We had to cancel your newborn photos. We made due with what we had and did an in home shoot. But it’s not the same. There haven’t been any play dates. No mommy-and-me classes of any kind. No strolls through Target to kill time. No story time at the library. All of the “firsts” your brothers had, you’ve missed out on.

Again, you don’t care. But the comparisons of how things should be vs how they are is heartbreaking every day.
It’s the guilt