Prologue
There is something about taking the test. In the movies, she waits. She sets a timer, and when it goes off, picks up the stick and looks at it from every angle. Her hand flies to her mouth. She cannot believe it. Sometimes she cries. Sometimes, she takes a second test.
The truth is a positive test often is instantaneous. There’s no time to ask, “What if?”
The first time, I was in college. I took the test because at that point, I had to. The line was practically nonexistent. A few days later, all was lost.
The second time, I took the test by myself. I didn’t have to wait to see it. It was quick. I saved it, delighted. We were both delighted.
The third time, the need to take the test was unexpected. I didn’t think it would happen so fast. The line was strong, and I took a digital test as well, which displayed the word “pregnant.” It felt so solid to see it. I took another a few days later, but the line was fainter. I thought it didn’t matter, I had the digital test. A week later, the proof was fading. Eventually, the word disappeared.
The fourth time, the need to take the test was again unexpected. I didn’t think it would happen so fast, again. This one I hid for a day. I wanted it to be just mine.
The fifth time, it wasn’t on my radar. It wasn’t even in same room as the radar. We were done having children, and on top of that my cat had just died and I was in a week-long tear fest. I thought I was late because of my grief. I took the test, and nearly threw up. It lit up like a Christmas tree. I took another, and made my husband read it. We were shook.
When are We Getting Grandchildren?
Pregnancy is the incubator of life. The potential. The unborn. Pregnancy and women, it seems, is a parallel universe. At some point, every woman in our lives has thought about having a child. Or about not having a child. We are reminded every month or so that our bodies are available. And even though they are our bodies somebody somewhere has something to say about that.
The rules are ridiculous.
When you are young, and fertile, you shouldn’t get pregnant. Especially if you’re not married. If you get married and get pregnant while you are still young, you’re young and dumb. At least you have the energy for toddlers. Congratulations.
If you wait to get married, your wedding gift is a clock. Set it accordingly. Plan for your babies. Purchase ovulation tests and download the apps. Your window is short, so get going.
Once you are married and you have had your first baby (YAY!) you will be rewarded when you plan your second. In some cases, you also will be rewarded if you plan a third, especially if your first two children are the same gender. Your obligation to go for a ___ is high. Especially, if you’ve had only girls. Gotta get that boy. A father with a son can puff up his chest.
Once you are married, and you have failed at any of the above, there will be whispers. If things continue on for a few years, you then begin to swim in the pool of pity. Eventually someone will ask, “When are you having children?” The answer to that question is your life’s fork: pursue science or leave it up to God. (Or tell the questioner to eff off because you’re NOT having children.) You will find a community that is depressingly supportive during such a difficult time. Please do not forget the clock still exists for you. You can only waste so much time and money pursuing the un-pursuable.
Once you are married, and you have explored the science enough AND you reach the age of 40, you are in it. This becomes a mission, beyond the desire to fulfill what others want for you. (Medically, you have reached this point at the age of 35, but the doctors are sensitive to telling you this. Your husband’s age does not factor in as much.)
Once you are married, and you’ve had your 2.1 replacement-level babies and you end up trying for that third they will say you love being a mother, but oh my goodness, it’s so much work! If you then have a fourth, well, a large family must be what you really, really want. Anything over four children requires a religious decree or a serious consideration of surgery. Don’t you by now know how this happens? Hehe. If you continue to have children, beyond five babies, well, now you’re hoping for a reality show. Or a YouTube channel.
Once you are married, and you’ve had your 2.1 replacement-level babies, and you are over 40 and you have another child (or two) … well, now you’re just being defiant. Don’t you know how old you’ll be when they graduate from high school? Think about your husband! He’ll be using a walker. Did you use IVF? You must seek surgical solutions to this problem so it doesn’t happen again.
There are exceptions to these rules. If you are not straight, none of these rules apply to you. You’re underneath the nose of society. If you are unmarried the only rule that applies to you, especially if you’ve had more than one child, is to seek surgical solutions to this problem so this doesn’t happen again.
The biggest exception to every single rule is if you are, in fact, a man. If you are two men with a baby, please see the rules above (re: not straight). If you are a single man, then … Hello. Hi. You are such a good dad.
Seriously, if you are just a man out in public with a child, it doesn’t need to be yours, again: Hello. Hi. Are you married? (I’m for serious here. Think about it. Single man + child is considered “hot.” The nicknames. “Funcle?” “A Manny?” C’mon. It is not at all fair.)
The Truth About Pregnancy
Pregnancy is hard. Period. It is the process of beginning and sustaining life. An entire other being growing into an entire other being inside of an entire other being. It isn’t something to be taken lightly, or mocked. Pregnancy can happen quickly, over years of trying or not at all. Life is a wheel of fortune. Our control over it can sometimes be so limited.
The hardest, most difficult part for me was about control. All my pregnancies reinforced how much I enjoyed bodily autonomy. Instead, I was physically morphing into someone else for someone else. It was a heady, stressful, sometimes overwhelming experience.
There are so many things they don’t tell you. How in the first few weeks you can get winded just walking up a flight of stairs, or struck by nausea at any moment, or how someone can just look at your boobs and they hurt. How undeniably weird lighting crotch is. How you can become so overheated naked isn’t cool enough. How you can sweat in places you didn’t know it was possible to produce sweat. How a fetus, at 33 weeks, can suddenly acquire a drum set in your uterus.
Our body, our choice. But when you choose to become pregnant (or choose to continue your pregnancy) it suddenly affords strangers the right to discuss your body. In public. Right in front of your face. My second pregnancy, the one I wanted to keep a secret for a bit, was where I gained the most weight. (I hadn’t lost the weight from the first pregnancy, so I was sitting a good 30 pounds up and gained 40 pounds on top of that.) I was in a grocery store one spring when I was around five months. The cashier asked me when I was due and when I told her “August” she audibly gasped. When she saw the look on my face, she tried to cover it up by doubling down on her faux pas by saying, “But, but … you just have so much further to go!”
Mini sidebar: At this same grocery store, post-pregnancy with said infant in a punkin’ seat in the cart a different employee asked me when I was due. I was still wearing maternity tops, as you do, and I had to respond with, “Lady, the baby is right here.” *smackmyhead*
Now, I’m a woman of good stature, so rarely has a stranger come up to try and touch me, but I am told that touching a pregnant belly, although a “no-no,” is something extremely common. In fact, they make little signs to hang on a car seat to stop people from touching your infant, but they probably should make one you can hang around your belly.
None of this is okay.
The Chosen Ones
Sustaining and growing life is in our DNA. Our bodies are built for it; they take over literally before conception. I recently came across recent research that shows the egg actually chooses the sperm. You remember all the videos you saw in family life education? Or the intro to Look Who’s Talking? Yeah, it’s not the fittest, buffest, fastest swimmer from the male. It’s the egg that produces a chemical to attract the type of sperm it likes best. So on a cellular level we’re calling the shots.
There also is the science that revealed no matter if a pregnancy is completed or not, the cells from that pregnancy remain within the woman, and can be found throughout the body. What are these cells doing? Protecting us. Fighting against injuries and disease. I mean … the cool factor in that is undeniable. Men don’t’ have the privilege to experience any of this.
The issue is not the woman. It’s not our bodies, or our nature. It’s about control. We already feel out of control once that positive test comes in. It’s like getting on a train, but we’re not the engineer. Or the conductor.
But it’s also about the world trying to control us. Comments about our bodies. Weighing in on how much we should weigh in. What we should eat or not eat. If we should be medicated or not. Whispers if we’re seen with a take-out coffee. Most recently, it’s gone down a darker path: taking away our rights to health care, suggesting there be checkpoints at state lines to administer pregnancy tests, trying to access our medical data and monitor our periods.
It’s exhausting.
It’s not what our fore mothers wanted for us. I have written before about how women used to be worshiped. Many of those goddesses of ancient times were specifically goddesses of fertility. Of harvest. Of mothers. The female’s ability to grow and sustain life was recognized as the ultimate in ideal. And this at a time when pregnancy and birth were a risky affair for potential mothers. One of the first regular medical practices revolved around pregnancy and birth: midwifery.
And that leads us to the next phase of this wondrous process of life bearing. Childbirth.
My Voice In This 
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