It being the 2 year anniversary, I keep thinking about March 2020 and how weird it all was. Morrison wouldn’t let me touch the groceries and I ordered toilet paper from some website that I still haven’t received. We dressed up to eat lasagna in our living room and I checked the Covid metrics daily like I knew what I was even looking at. I dug through cabinets for travel sized hand sanitizer. My OB said two years of this, at least! and I think I laughed. One day we drove out to Malibu and ate some fish tacos out of the back of the car (pictured above). It felt illegal, like we would be arrested for leaving the house. I peed on the side of the road? The fries weren’t worth it. I was three months pregnant. People have often said to me, that must have been so hard, being pregnant during a pandemic. But in a way, for me, it was easy. While much of the world was panicking, fearing the worst, I was hyper focused on Joe and growing his ears and spine. I was worried, but just about him. I didn’t spiral, because I literally could not. We didn’t miss dinners or trips, we painted his room. Friends with so much time to spare cleaned out their garages and dropped off bags of clothes for him. We sorted them into piles and imagined him. He was our happy thought. I’ll always be grateful to him for getting us through that dark and weird time, and continuing to pull us through. I hope he never, and always, remembers it.