The Age of Coronial

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Day 764,598 of quarantine. Like many of you, I’ve experienced the full range of emotions since the emergence of the COVID-19 pandemic in this country, and the corresponding banishment of any and all things that we used to enjoy as social creatures. The good: I have spent considerably more time with my wife and dog, I learned how to cut my own hair, and I have gained a new appreciation for a well-made pair of luxury sweatpants. The bad: I nearly burned my house down in each of my several attempts to bake sourdough bread, I already wore out my luxury sweatpants and my wife and dog are now fully sick of me.

Then there’s the devastating. My father passed away unexpectedly in April from what we believe to be COVID-19. We weren’t able to have a traditional service for him or gather as a family to mourn the loss. Several members of my wife’s family have dealt with health issues, and current conditions have prevented us from visiting them or lending a hand. Less significantly, I’ve experienced my own health problems, and visiting a doctor during this period brings about myriad complexities and hazards. All the while, around 200,000 people have died from the virus, while our leaders continue to push for the country to re-open in the interest of stock market gains.

But, occasionally, light breaks through the darkness. In my case, it started amongst humble beginnings: My wife, Laura, bowed over a toilet vomiting her guts out. After a few minutes, she got up, wiped off her face and told me she needed to go to the pharmacy. Thirty minutes later, she was staring at a plus sign on a pregnancy test. We were both in shock. It’s not that we were totally taken by surprise, but the timing was somewhat precarious. We were still reeling from the passing of my father, and our state was at the time ravaged by COVID-19, with cases and deaths rising by the day.

We were absolutely elated, but we also had lots of questions. How do we keep the baby safe and healthy during a global pandemic? Is our house big enough? What benefits do our respective health insurance plans provide? What happens to my upstairs office? What about that ski pass I just bought?

Laura’s most pressing concern was figuring out the characteristics of an Aquarius, the expected astrological sign of our newborn. According to the foolproof science of astrology, it turns out they are analytical, big-picture thinkers, but they are also temperamental and uncompromising. I’d gladly take credit for the former — and blame Laura for the latter. According to the astrology paper of record (horoscope.com), an Aquarian’s greatest gift is a belief in the innate goodness of people. In that case, I think we’ll be doing everyone a favor by bringing another February baby into the world.

Birthing a child in 2020, however, raises some important legal and ethical questions that need to be considered. Take, for example, the longstanding millennial tradition of the “gender-reveal party.” For the uninitiated, a gender-reveal party is a celebration that typically is held in the second or third trimester of pregnancy, with the main event being a public “reveal” of the baby’s sex — often in dramatic fashion aimed at later gaining views and “likes” on social media platforms. While the tradition seems to be falling out of favor with the more enlightened Generation X (one criticism of such rituals is that they reinforce gender stereotypes and encourage toxic masculinity), millennials have clung steadfastly to the celebration, with decidedly mixed results.

For example, last fall, two people were flying in a crop-duster plane and dropped more than 300 gallons of pink water to inform the couple (who were safely on the ground) that they were having a baby girl. Jubilation quickly turned to panic when the crop-duster stalled out and fell from the sky. No one was seriously injured, but I doubt insurance coverage extended to extravagant and unnecessary displays of implied binary gender essentialism (as the kids say). And then there was the tragic incident that took place last year in Iowa, in which a soon-to-be grandmother was killed when her family set off a makeshift pipe bomb to announce the sex of their child.

Most recently, a reveal-related explosion is to blame for igniting a forest fire in Southern California, which has grown to more than 7,000 acres and is still burning as of the time of this writing. The fire department issued a statement, noting that those “responsible for starting fire due to negligence or illegal activity can be held financially and criminally responsible.” In light of the legal and ethical pitfalls presented by these new-wave celebrations, we decided to reveal our child’s sex in a decidedly safer manner: with doughnuts (in our case, they were pink). Although that didn’t help my waistline, my neighbors were relieved that I didn’t put my stockpile of fireworks to use.

And then there is the matter of picking a name. Laura and I have whipped ourselves into nervous wrecks trying to find the perfect surname — something that’s feminine (but not too feminine), strong (but not too masculine), and easy to say (but not rhymey). We’ve also ruled out numerous otherwise great names because friends, enemies or acquaintances beat us to the punch — or simply had a name that was too similar. It’s been tiresome.

As it turns out, though, perhaps we also need to consider the legal implications of a chosen name. For example, Tesla CEO Elon Musk and his partner chose the very sensible and practical “X Æ A-12” for their newborn son. Unfortunately for them, California law provides that official legal names cannot include a number. There’s an injustice if I’ve ever seen one. Not to be deterred, though — they quickly changed the baby’s name to the timeless classic, “X Æ A-Xii”. In the end, they fought the law, and nobody, but in particular little baby X Æ A-Xii, won.

COVID-19 has brought about incredible uncertainty and immense devastation. It also has revealed some of the best parts of humanity: resilience, compassion and empathy. And most important for me, it presents the turning of a page and the start of a new chapter. The dawning of the Age of Coronial . . . err, I mean Aquarius.