You won’t know life before coronavirus. 

Like babies born after the September 11 terror attacks will only know the strict airport checks we have now. Like anyone younger than 20 will have likely grown up with their every move documented online by their parents. Like many members of Generation Z won’t know what it’s like to own a house.

You will join a select generation, those conceived at a time of uncertainty.

Maybe we won’t greet our friends and family with hugs and kisses. Maybe masks are a staple everywhere you go. Maybe you’ll do all your schooling online. Maybe an OE is something you only see people doing in old movies. Maybe everyone works from home by the time you enter the workforce, with all customer-facing jobs replaced by machines to avoid germs. 

They will study you guys. How many of you are there?  Have the burdens of a crisis affected you?

Just like they’re studying the babies who arrived during lockdowns - are they less likely to develop allergies born at a time when air quality was better? 

They’ll study the kids who lived through it too.

Those who weren’t allowed to sit on Santa’s knee, who had to read their wish lists to him behind a Perspex screen as their parents fretted over how to make it work financially. 

Those who missed months of schooling in their formative years.

YOU JOINED our bubble during New Zealand’s first lockdown.

We’d been hearing about this new virus, reportedly stemming from a live animal market in the Chinese city of Wuhan.

It was inevitable it was going to get here too, a booming tourist hotspot and multicultural nation with thousands of flights into the country each day. 

It happened on February 28. A person in their 60s recently returned from Iran. Our tiny Island at the bottom of the world became the 48th country to join an unwanted club. 

I WASN'T allowed to see anyone but your dad and the fuzzy faces of my workmates via Zoom meetings for seven weeks. One of our two cats, Boris, made regular appearances at meetings. So did the Dyson. 

Children climbed on to knees, significant others got in shots dressing gown-clad, mute buttons got stuck regularly. Beards got longer, blonde highlights disappeared.

The bathroom is next to my desk so your dad would have to warn me when he was about to flush if I was in a meeting so I could mute. 

I wore sweatpants and slippers and no makeup. Your dad was in his pyjamas at the kitchen table. He works in logistics for a global clothing chain so all the stores were closed and his workload decreased by about 80 per cent. 

Like countless others, we both took pay cuts for a while - him 20 per cent, me 15. Mine was later paid back by the company. The Herald also asked us to use some of our leave to help with costs.

Initially I thought a week off during lockdown would be a chance to get really fit. But the six-pack plans evaporated when I discovered Chelsea Winter’s Lockdown Loaf. You couldn't buy yeast anywhere as people turned into home cafe bakers, but the recipe used beer so it went viral. 

I did manage to clean every inch of the house, debut on TikTok, get really good at making homemade burgers in place of takeaways, rewatch many old movies, make a herb garden (but the plant store wasn’t open to put herbs in it) and organise 67 pairs of shoes.

People turned into home hairdressers.

Masks became the hot new fashion accessory, with many Kiwi designers jumping on the bandwagon.

New Zealand ran low on many things we rely on from overseas, including elastic because of all the mask-wearing (and maybe because of the expanding waistlines and need for track pants).

WHEN THE rules relaxed a bit, the office was a new place. We weren’t allowed to hotdesk any more, the Friday drinks and pizza night was cancelled, there was no shared food for birthdays or farewells.

And there were many empty desks. We never got to say goodbye in person to those who lost their jobs in lockdown. Others weren’t back in the office because they were immunocompromised. Some found working from home much more efficient. 

I still didn’t know about you yet so we got a puppy. I was working from home a couple of days a week so thought it was a great time to add a rambunctious little fur baby to the bubble.

We tried to go to a bar and were told there was a five-hour wait because the number of people they could let in had to be small enough to allow for social distancing. And like the movie Footloose, dancing was banned.

AUCKLAND WAS plunged back into its second lockdown in August after four members of the same family with no link to overseas travel tested positive. It would become the country’s biggest cluster.

Two days later, I was due to have my three-month scan. The vital one. I’d get to see you moving around, your heartbeat pumping. They tell you if everything is growing how it should be. And the risk for miscarriage drops significantly.

I called to check the rules and my heart sank when they said your dad couldn’t come in with me. 

I was told to wait in the car until 9am on the dot and to wear a mask.

The sonographer wouldn’t let me film it either, something about interfering with the machines. I saw you bouncing up and down for the first time, saw your little heartbeat moving fast and healthily. It was bittersweet without seeing your dad’s reaction next to me. I asked a million questions and tried to remember every detail so he could share the experience.

A week later, your dad wasn’t allowed in the midwife’s office to hear your heartbeat for the first time. 

I felt selfish telling people about you, like I would be bragging during a time when so many people were going through so much. 

I thought I’d better come clean with colleagues because who knew how long this second lockdown would last and how big the bump would be when I finally returned to the office?

I told my team via Zoom. Everyone was so supportive, but it doesn’t beat seeing people’s reactions in real life.

A few days later, our local supermarket closed after it emerged a positive case had visited. I had done a full shop there the day before. 

Everyone has a story like this to tell. A close call, a scare or - even worse - has had the disease themselves. 

But again, my worries seemed trivial. 

THINGS COULD have been much worse. You could have joined our bubble in Brazil.

We speak to your grandmother in Sao Paulo every weekend and plead with her not to leave the house.

You could have been in our bubble in Europe, if we had been allowed to continue with our trip around Britain and Austria in August. 

Britain has more than 2 million cases compared with New Zealand’s 2100-odd cases.

A Whatsapp group I’m in with a bunch of my old friends reinforces how lucky we are.

Stephanie had to shut down the restaurant she owns in Peru for four months, rendering her incomeless.

Rachael in London lost her job in sales and has gone back to personal training to bring in money and help people’s physical and mental health. Her Christmas was essentially cancelled as a third of the UK country was plunged into its third lockdown due to new strain of the virus.

Cherie, a teacher in Austria, has picked up extra shifts at her school as two colleagues have Covid. But today, her country will also go into its third lockdown.

Helene, a beautician in Australia, was out of work for four months and as a Kiwi wasn’t eligible for benefits there.

YOU GAVE us a scare that week. There had been some bleeding so my midwife sent me for a scan. Luckily everything was normal and the sonographer was able to tell us three weeks before you usually find out that you were a little boy.

The topic of gender will be a fascinating thing once you’re old enough to read this. Some New Zealand parents are shunning all stereotypes and raising their children non-binary. The pregnant model Emily Ratajkowski says her child will decide its gender and let her know what it is at 18. 

You gave us another scare about 25 weeks. With a million things on the brain, carrying a bag of heavy books, I fell over in the pouring rain while crossing the road on my way back to the carpark after work.

I landed on my knees and elbow, grazing them. With blood pouring out and ripped pants, I hobbled to the car.

A week later, with full bruised knees and battle scars, the midwife noticed during a checkup and sent me for a scan straight away, scolding me for not going to the hospital at the time for monitoring. She said I could have bled out and the cord could have got wrapped around your neck from the sudden jolt.

The scan showed there were no fall-related internal problems, but the sonographer did discover a hole in your heart, a foramen ovale. All babies have it, but yours is more pronounced. You also had an extra beat.

I had to visit a specialist at Auckland Hospital who said I'll need to increase midwife appointments to weekly so they can monitor your heart diligently.

But every time I feel your little foot kicking me in the side, I relax a little more.