18 Months With Lila Lee: A Letter To My Pandemic Baby

Dear Lila Lee.

You, my love, turn 18 months old tomorrow. How? Since entering motherhood some five years ago I’ve become all too familiar with the fact that time is a thief. But this past year she’s been especially artful in her craft- the start of the pandemic feeling both like yesterday and a lifetime away; creating a cruel time warp that still has us reeling.

It’s a strange thing, having a baby during a pandemic. And while you entered the world in 2019, just six months before the world stopped, it’s still so much a part of your story.

This time last year your mom was in the thick of postpartum woes. She was struggling- with hormones and body image and self-inflicted pressure to get back to work; and to make it all look shiny for silly little squares.

And if that wasn’t enough, we were then all abruptly thrust into the collective feelings of anxiety and depression that plagued 2020.

In that time, we fought hard to come out the best we could- we made tough choices that some disagreed with; but that we knew were best for us.

And so we made them.

For you. For your sister. For our family.

And never looked back.

We were the embodiment of the proverbial “pivot.”

We sought shelter from the unknown across the country in the California sunshine, when the only thing we could control was being together.

Where our family bonded; where we felt protected.

Where you spent nearly two months. Where you grew. Where you learned to crawl. Where you cut teeth.

Where your mama became herself again.

Where we had epiphanies.

And then we moved. To our home down south. The only home you’ll likely remember. Where you turned a year, and now 18 months.

And while you got so much of what all babies deserve in this first chapter of your life- love and safety and comfort; you were also robbed of so many things- of interaction with kids; of facial expressions behind masks; of hugs from distant relatives; of music class; of seeing new places and things; of being with family.

But just as seamlessly as you settled into my belly; just as cool and calmly as you entered this world, you have taken the last 18 months in stride.

You’ve never made a fuss. You’re docile and sweet and just happy to be here.

Always happy to just be here. With us.

You, like so many babies and children I’ve seen in this last year, are resilient. And patient. And innocent. And kind.

And I just know you will be OK.

That in time, you’re going to get all those other things you so greatly deserve.

That in some ways these strange beginnings will be the very reason why you prosper; why you’ll flourish.

That whatever happens in this world, it is for certain a better place with you in it.

And I’m just so fucking lucky that you’re mine.

picture by Lee Clower via CPC Childrenswear