Brave Beginnings

I found out I was pregnant with Odin in the very start of the COVID-19 pandemic—when the world had suddenly gone quiet, and fear flew in the air like a storm that would never pass.

There was no celebrating with friends, nobody but me feeling him kick my little belly, no big baby shower. There were moments and milestones that all new moms look forward to and I felt robbed of those. Just hand sanitizer, masks, and constantly searching the news, trying to get an understanding of the world I was about to bring my sweet baby into. Every appointment felt like walking into the unknown. I sat alone in those clinic rooms, looking at my growing belly, trying to catch my breath while tears welled up behind my mask. Listening to doctors explain protocols instead of possibilities.

It was scary. As if having your first baby doesn’t feel scary enough. It wasn’t just the virus—it was the isolation. The daily increase of unknowns and decreasing normalcy. I remember lying in bed, my big ole dog next to me, my hand on my stomach, and just praying for Odin’s safety, protection, and strength. Praying it wouldn’t phase him. It was my promise to protect him to the best of my ability. It was a prayer from a desperate mama’s heart for stability and a sense of safety. Something primal and instinctive awakened in me through this pregnancy while the world outside was unraveling.

When he was born, December of 2020, I didn’t feel ready—but I knew I had to be. He came roaring into the world via emergency c-section, my 8lb 8oz warrior, with big blue eyes and the mightiest cry. No family visiting my hospital room. No celebratory chaos. Just us and this new life. Before he was even born he had proven he was tougher than the times.

Raising Odin in those early days brought out something fierce in me. I became a mom by being launched into survival mode. Trying to survive the uncertainty and confusion that the pandemic had created. Every decision carried the weight of protection. There were no play dates with new friends. Just long nights, quiet days, and a consistent hum of anxiety and worry running with every moment. But also—bonding. Deep, unshakable bonding. In our safe little cocoon we learned each other deeply. I didn’t have to share my baby, I could slowly and personally embrace every beautiful moment. I heard his every sound and breath, and witnessed every milestone. He memorized my heartbeat, my voice.

Now, 4 years later, I see that wild fire still in him. Odin doesn’t just play—he charges. He doesn’t just laugh—he roars. He meets life head-on, stubborn and strong, but still tender hearted and intuitive. And I know that some part of that comes from the way he entered this wild world—through uncertainty, into love, where I held him close and fought to protect him every single day.

Being pregnant and having my first baby during a pandemic cracked me open and tore me down. It introduced me to the raw, real meaning of motherhood—not the filtered version with cute onesies and perfect photos—but the fierce, messy, warrior version.

Odin was born in a storm. But he was my calm after it, too. He is my heart outside my body and my constant reminder that we can do hard things—Especially when we’re scared.