I'm going to start implying that I gave birth at some point during isolation (it was one of those pregnancies you don't notice that I'm assured somehow happen sometimes) because what are you going to do? Demand I take my baby outside during a pandemic to prove it to you?
Well, let me tell you. I imagine I had a lot of trouble with her. Well, the hospital obstetrics ward was all converted into a crisis center for COVID. Expectant parents were being told to hold off on giving birth until after the disease had passed but - well - I got impatient.
We had some morphine left over from an earlier caper so we were set to birth at home, but we weren't sure who was meant to take the drugs. The baby? But we couldn't reach the baby. That was the whole problem. So I took it. Long story short, woke up with one baby and a ruined sofa
I named her Princess Alberta "Fats" Denton, in honor of my favorite pool player and my favorite type of jewelry.