Quarantine, Baby

The joys of the non-outing outing.

Birth Write
By Rene Gutel

Why didn’t anyone tell me you can’t take new babies anywhere? That their immune systems are too weak and the big, bad, germ-filled world is too scary to risk exposing them to it?

This was an aspect of parenthood I hadn’t expected. I had planned on taking my son everywhere, but he was born nearly six weeks premature and weighed just over four pounds. At every doctor’s visit, I ask our pediatrician whether we can take our son out, and he always says the same thing: “Not yet.”

So we’re on house arrest.

Apparently this self-imposed quarantine is common with preemies. And our case is especially important, as Miles was born right at the beginning of flu and RSV season. Before getting pregnant, I’d never even heard of RSV, which stands for Respiratory Syncytial Virus. In adults, it appears to be nothing more than the common cold, but for children under one, it’s the leading cause of pneumonia and bronchitis, according to the Centers for Disease Control.

It helps that I’m breastfeeding, which passes along antibodies that help the baby fight bacteria and viruses. And we wash our hands neurotically and have hand sanitizer on every counter in the house. As for visitors, if you’ve got so much as a tickle in your throat, I’m sorry: You’ll have to wait to come say “Hi.”

In the meantime, my husband and I have become masters of the non-outing outing. We rediscovered the Scottsdale drive-in not far from our home. I always thought having a baby meant the end of going to the movies, but we’ve now seen more films in the months after our son’s birth than we ever did before. What’s wonderful about the drive-in is that it feels like you’re going out on the town, but you’re safely ensconced in the bubble of your own car.

Besides the drive-in, occasionally I make a quick run to Target or the grocery store, but my world has shrunk down to the size of our ranch-style Tempe home, punctuated by occasional walks, pushing the stroller through the neighborhood.

After seven weeks of house arrest, my husband and I were beyond stir crazy, and decided to go for a walk along Mill Avenue. That’s how we found ourselves at the ASU Art Museum. It was a weekday morning and the galleries were empty. We pushed the stroller through the near-vacant museum while our boy slept. After a spell, he let me know he was hungry and needed changing. So off I went to the bathroom. I was sitting on the mommy-friendly couch, burping him, when a woman came through the door.

“Now, that baby’s not very old,” she said, leaning in a bit too close for my liking.

“He’s seven weeks!” I said proudly. Of course his size gives him away. What kind of seven-week-old weighs seven pounds?

“And you’re already taking him to museums?” she asked suspiciously.

The woman walked away incredulously, and I was left feeling a little bit guilty. Thankfully, the outing didn’t result in our son contracting any colds. But I don’t regret taking him because we can’t live in a vacuum indefinitely. We’re being cautious and, in the coming months, we’ll gradually expand the boundaries of the protected space around our boy.

Rene Gutel is a freelance journalist living in Phoenix.