I was one of many women who had a pandemic baby. Few people saw me pregnant, and even fewer met my second-born son or ever will. In September 2021, just shy of 3 months of age, my son died. He was one of the most bright-eyed, happiest babies I’ve met and spent every day of his short life loved and adored.
The day it happened, I shared news of his loss in a short Twitter post. The impulse to share was a protective one. As someone active on social media, I wanted to avoid the inevitable question from friends and acquaintances: How’s your baby?