In these divisive and relentlessly terrifying times, I think we can all agree on one thing—2020 has been a truly horrific year so far.
We still have five months to go and staying alive continues to take the top spot on everyone’s to-do list.
Last August, a seeming lifetime ago, I was strolling with my daughter Gabriella along a nearby trail in Woodinville. It was a gloriously warm Sunday afternoon.
She and her hubs had recently returned to the PNW after a year in Virginia—and were home for good..
After discussing their respective career plans and mapping out which communities in Seattle sounded best for their next apartment, we wrapped up our convo with a tagline that made us smile: “New baby. New president.. 2020!”
Just a few months later, the first part of our 2020 tagline came true.
On December 18, her 27th birthday, Gabriella heard her baby’s heartbeat for the first time.
One week later, on Christmas Eve, the parents-to-be learned their baby was healthy and a boy.
(“This kid already has impeccable timing,” I quipped.)
They marked their calendars for July 6, 2020—the baby’s due date.
The new year soon began unfolding in all its horror as Gabriella’s belly slowly grew.
Gabriella and Jesh hunkered down in their tiny studio apartment in Wedgwood, a charming community just minutes from UW and downtown Seattle.
She’d chosen to go the midwife route at the Center for Birth. If things went awry, the hospitals were just minutes away.
My minimalist millennial slowly realized that minimalism and new motherhood don’t align well at all—especially in a 500-square-foot studio.
I have a 3 bedroom/1 bath rambler with a den that’s a converted garage. It has a separate front entrance and relatively new doors that cordon off the den from the kitchen, making it essentially a fourth spacious bedroom. The little family had found their new landing pad.
The expectant parents and their two cats moved in with me in late June and we excitedly prepared for the baby’s arrival.
July 6 came and went. The baby stayed put.
The window for using the Birth Center was closing, since my daughter was now two weeks overdue. It was time to induce.
She checked in on the evening of July 20 at Evergreen Medical Center, the hospital that was ground zero when the pandemic first began in the U.S.
She’d spend the night, and the plan was for the baby to come the next day. Gabriella and Jesh were allowed to invite one person to be there for the birth. Happily, I was the one.
I’ll cut to the chase. Quentin Justin Thomas Jacobsen made his earthly debut at 4:03 p.m. on July 21, 2020.
He was 2 weeks overdue, but arrived at the impeccably perfect day—on what would have been his great-grandfather Thomas Joseph O’Hara’s 100th birthday.
New baby. New president. New grandma—looking so forward to better things ahead.
