DWP: Dating While Pregnant

Awkward topic, right? Indeed, it's awkward for me to even write about, since people I know in real life read this blog. (Hi Mom...) And yet, with a dearth of available sources on what it means to date while single and queer and pregnant, I feel a sort of responsibility to document some small piece of my own experience. Mainly, this post is for those of you who don't know me, and rather, have found this blog through your own interest in queer single parenthood. You know, all four of you. Because, if nothing else, I want it to be a part of the public record that you can indeed date while pregnant.

Which is not to say that it isn't complicated.

The first thing to know is this: You will want to have sex while pregnant. In fact, you will want to have a lot sex. As soon as that first trimester nausea passes, you will become more sex-obsessed than a 16-year-old boy.

You will not find this information in What to Expect When You're Expecting. (Nor, for that matter, will you find the words "queer," "gay," "lesbian," or "trans," but that's a post for another day.) In fact, many pregnancy books focus on telling you that it's okay to NOT want to have sex, or that gentle, non-penetrative sex is what many women prefer while doing the important, nurturing work of growing a fetus. My friends, not only has this not been my experience, but once you get pregnant, women everywhere (queer, straight, single, and partnered) will all let you in on a little secret: pregnancy makes you want to get it on.

The problem, of course, is that those of us becoming single parents don't necessarily have a sex partner on tap.

When I thought about being pregnant and single, it honestly didn't occur to me that this would be a time in which I'd want to date. The emotional complications seemed huge, especially after having experienced so many ups and downs in my last relationship, most of which were due to my desire to have a baby. It seemed so much simpler to imagine waiting until after the kid was here, a known quantity. And then too, I couldn't imagine feeling hot in maternity wear. I mean, can you really get laid while you're wearing leggings, or jeans with an elastic waistband?

Amazingly, the answer is yes.

Dating while pregnant is great in lots of ways. In a moment in which your body is changing dramatically, and your self-image requires constant re-negotiation, being with someone who thinks you're sexy is a really powerful thing. In addition to feeding the aforementioned sex obsession, dating can be a fun and playful way to explore the ways in which your body is changing, with someone else. And in my case, dating someone who thinks that becoming a parent is cool has been an incredibly validating experience.

But there is, of course, a flip side. And that, for me at least, is that pregnancy brings out emotional vulnerabilities you never knew were there. Dating while pregnant is thrilling one moment, and terrifying the next. Because here's the thing: you're embarking on one of the biggest, most exciting things you've ever done, and sharing that, even a small part of it, with someone who might not stick around until the end can be a very scary undertaking. You have to constantly ask yourself, is this worth the risk of getting hurt?

I don't know the answer to that question. Most days, I feel like I'm fumbling blindly down an unmarked path. There are so few role models for making a family in this way, I often have no one to turn to for words of wisdom or advice. Even my therapist said the other day, "Well, there's certainly no textbook answer for that!" All I can do is continue to make the best decisions possible for myself, my baby, our future. Who knows how it will all turn out? In the meantime, I'll keep you posted...

Panic: I'm having a WHAT?!?!

So, I set up this blog with the intention of providing a centralized resource for many of the logistical questions that arose in my babymaking process. However, I'm going to take a little detour today from talking about inseminations and sperm banks, and instead focus on the unexpected moment of abject terror that is apparently common in early pregnancy. The moment when, after months of agonizing, emotional attempts at conception, you realize...

OH MY GOD, I'M HAVING A BABY.

I imagine that this sense of panic is normal for women who didn't mean to get pregnant. After all, even if you're in a stable and secure relationship, an unexpected pregnancy changes everything. And of course, for those people who simply fell victim to a faulty condom in a one-night stand, well, we've all seen "Knocked Up." There's certainly plenty of justification for tears and fears there.

However, my own panic surprised me, precisely because this baby has been SO planned, SO intentional. I mean, I started making preparations for this a year before I received my first shipment of sperm. Long before I had inseminated, I had already started researching diapers, baby slings, and day care options. I've had a list of names going for months now. There's a FERTILITY ALTAR in my apartment, and let me tell you, I hate all that new-agey crap. But that's how much I wanted this baby. I was willing to try anything.

And finally, after one miscarriage, six rounds of inseminations, lots of tears, and $6,500 worth of sperm, I've gotten what I wanted: those thrilling double lines on the pregnancy test. So, why do I still feel like crying?

The answer, I think, is complicated.

First of all, of course, there's a certain level of hormonal fluctuation in pregnancy that makes a person...well, perhaps less than fully rational. While I haven't started crying at kleenex commercials yet, I did get a little teary over an episode of "Law and Order" the other night. This is normal, and I'm trying to take it all with a grain of salt.

Second, and more importantly, is my sudden understanding of how everything in my life is about to change. Now, I'm not stupid. Obviously, it occured to me before getting pregnant that indeed, everything in my life would change. And yet, it seemed so abstract in a way, so removed from my actual life. Now though, the reality of what it means to a single parent is beginning to dawn on me. Sleep? Free time? Pleasure reading? Money? Vacation? Sex? Will I ever have any of these things again?

And then, there's the bitterest seed: I'm becoming a single parent, but I'm not really single. I have a girlfriend. A girlfriend I love. A girlfriend who is, at best, ambivalent about this pregnancy. And of course, I don't blame her. She didn't sign on for this - her vision of kids is still years off, cushioned by a stable, committed partnership and enough fiscal security to hire a nanny. A totally reasonable vision. Just not the one I've chosen to pursue. And so, the stakes are high: this baby may indeed cost me one of the most important relationships in my life.

On top of all this is the fact that I am currently 4 and a 1/2 weeks pregnant, which means that, given the high risk of miscarriage in the first trimester, it is still by no means certain that I'm actually going to have a baby. I have now passed the point at which I lost my last pregnancy, which is a great relief. However, I still have a good 8 weeks before I'm out of the woods, and that makes it hard to let myself get truly excited about this new life. And so, afraid to let myself feel the excitement of the process, I am instead just sitting around in the terror and panic.

And that, my friends, is a scary and uncomfortable place to be.