In early March of 2020, I discovered I was pregnant for the first time. I told my sister the happy news a year ago this week, in a bright neighbourhood café with warm drinks, whisper-shrieking with disbelief, trying not to disturb the half-dozen people reading, relaxing, and working on laptops around us. 
That would be the last normal social moment I?d have for my entire pregnancy, and well beyond. About a week later, the whole world shut down to stop the spread of COVID-19.
It?s eerie thinking back to that afternoon and all its tiny details I took for granted: calling someone for a spontaneous coffee. Hugging my sister. A café of people silently living their lives alongside each other. Standing in line to order and giving exactly zero thought to anyone?s proximity to me, or the risk to my fetus. Leaving the cafe and assuming my next hangout with my sister was a handful of days away, like always. My son arrived in November 2020 in Toronto, at the height of the second wave of COVID-19. He was born onto a quiet planet that only his dad and I inhabit; he has yet to meet a single other person. There have been no friends hanging out on the couch while I clumsily attempt to master breastfeeding, no visitors, no parents moving in to help out, no mom groups or meetups, and no real postpartum support. 
In moments, this has been crushing, frustrating, lonely, and hard. The sleep deprivation is physically painful some days. Four months in, I?m still struggling to feed myself and s...