“I couldn’t imagine having another child right now.”
I said this to friends when COVID-19 cases first spiked in my area last spring. I knew I eventually wanted to add one more little one to the mix, but at that moment, navigating the challenges of working from home and raising two toddlers felt like climbing a hill to which there was no end.
Just a few weeks later, the universe laughed in my face: I was pregnant — with twins.
Like many moms-to-be who have navigated pregnancy during the pandemic, I found myself paralyzed with fear about venturing out into the world. As lockdown restrictions were slowly eased in my state last summer, I chose not to send my kids back to day care and continued to bunker down at home. The few socially-distant outdoor play dates we did attend filled me with anxiety, while grocery shopping sent me into a downward spiral of stress if anyone let out a small cough or got too close.
Some anxiety is probably to be expected when you're pregnant during a pandemic, and the fact that moms-to-be have a higher risk of developing complications from COVID-19, including preterm birth, added to my fears.
But I was especially nervous because I knew that multiples are often born early and small — the average gestation for twins is about 35 to 36 weeks. It's not uncommon for newborn twins to spend some time in the NICU. I constantly worried about a scenario in which I’d contract the virus, my babies would need to be delivered even sooner than they might otherwise and I’d be barred from visiting them in the NICU for the first few weeks of their lives.
And I held onto a secret that made me feel guilty: I actually wanted to go back into full lockdown. Working, parenting two toddlers and preparing for my twins' arrival was the extent of my emotional capacity. Anything else just didn’t feel possible — or even important.
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But not everyone in my inner circle, including my husband, understood my then-undiagnosed perinatal anxiety, and it led to many uncomfortable conversations. That "in between" stage of the pandemic — when cases were relatively low, restrictions were less intense, and some of our friends and family felt comfortable meeting up for socially-distant gatherings — became particularly unbearable for me.
There were countless arguments about whether or not we'd send our children to school or return to work (something my husband's company was pressing for). I felt a tightness in my chest when we received social invitations, even ones that we might have been able to navigate safely. I started to dread birthdays and holidays, since I knew we’d inevitably be invited somewhere, the rest of my family would want to go and I would feel compelled to say no. The alternative was equally painful — appease everyone else, hesitantly accept and then field the resulting feelings of anxiety for days before and after.
I struggled to differentiate between "normal" and extreme COVID-19 anxiety. I wondered: Was I being irrational? Was I being unfair to my family? Most days I didn’t have any answers, but this was my reality for 36 weeks and six days until I was induced after a third hospital stint for gestational hypertension.
We had made it to the finish line COVID-free. At the hospital, after welcoming my twins — a boy and a girl — I was exhausted but elated.
Then, just 48 hours after giving birth, I got a call from my husband, who had gone home to prep the house for my homecoming. After taking care of my toddlers while I was in labor, my dad realized he couldn’t taste or smell anything. A test the next morning revealed he was positive for COVID-19.
While I was in labor, my entire “pod” had unknowingly been exposed to the virus — both of my parents, my husband, my nanny and my two toddlers. They all had to be quarantined, which left me alone at the hospital with my twins. My daughter had been scheduled to go home with me that day, but my son, who weighed just 4 pounds and was on a feeding tube, needed to be in the NICU for an unspecified amount of time.
The tears came — and didn’t stop. Everything I had felt for nine-plus months bubbled to the surface and exploded. I cried for 18 hours straight, which sent my blood pressure skyrocketing. The stress of what I perceived as my worst fears coming true combined with the hormone drop (times two!) was the perfect storm. I simply couldn’t pick myself up off the floor.
But everyone around me rallied. Hospital management worked out a way to let me stay an extra night, affording me time to gather myself and figure out where my newborn daughter and I would go until my family could — hopefully — test negative for the virus. (Thankfully, nobody else tested positive and my dad's case was very mild.) My gracious aunt and her family agreed to host us, which meant I could continue to visit my son in the NICU. Another aunt set up a meal train for my husband and two toddlers, who were now home alone. And my doctor addressed the elephant in the room: my mental health.
My practitioner helped me realize that while my COVID-19 fears were legitimate, I had been crippled by debilitating anxiety for months — and my stressful post-delivery situation had sent me over the edge.
While I looked at my doctor with eyes I could barely open from crying, he gave me a gift I had been waiting months for: the validation that my feelings were normal. He explained how common perinatal anxiety is, especially for moms of multiples.
Throughout my pregnancy, I was praised for “doing it all” and “making it look easy” and “handling the situation so well,” but that wasn't how I felt. I might not have been showing obvious signs of anxiety or depression — sleeping too much, crying at the drop of a hat or feeling irritable — but that didn’t change the fact that I was struggling day in and day out.
To help level out my hormones and treat the anxiety head on, my doctor prescribed an antidepressant. In addition, he urged me to stick with the strategies we had used to combat my hypertension: rest, a wholesome diet, hydration and relaxation techniques like soothing music or meditation.
Our “village” was immensely supportive, too. Though I’m not typically one to accept help, we said “yes” to every offer — meals, groceries, baby gear, you name it. With these burdens largely lifted, I was able to focus on myself and bring my babies home to a healthy, happy house.
Slowly, the weight lifted. The tears began to dry, my mood improved, the arguments with my partner subsided and maybe most importantly, I've learned to give myself grace to heal.
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