In March of 2020, my husband and I returned home from a holiday skiing and visiting family and friends in Canada. It was a wonderful trip, done in the nick of time—our last day on the ski hill, the resort announced it was closing due to growing concerns over coronavirus. When we departed London for Vancouver at the end of February, COVID-19 was something people were only worried about if they’d visited China. By the time we returned in mid-March, London was going into lockdown.

We’d been planning on trying for a baby for a while, and the timing seemed right despite the pandemic. I was realistic; I knew the pandemic wasn’t likely to be over soon, but I also expected it to take a while for us to get pregnant. At 36 years old with endometriosis, I had no illusions that it would be easy for us.

Except… it was easy. By the beginning of April we were staring at two blue lines on a pregnancy test.

I was a bit apprehensive about being pregnant during a pandemic, but I figured with a little luck, it would all be over by the time the baby came. We had nine months, after all.

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