Why People Shouldn’t Ask if a Woman Will Get Pregnant Again.

There are many layers to this blog post as I write it. I write it not only as a woman who has struggled with fertility but as a lesbian mom. I also write it as my two darling boys are screaming outside because they don’t want to come inside from playing in the snow. They would honestly let their fingers freeze and fall off. The screaming ambiance makes it easier to write this.

For those of you who haven’t read my previous posts you can look here and here for posts regarding my struggles with fertility, pregnancy, and birthing of twin boys. Suffice it to say it was a long hard journey initially more challenging because we are lesbians made more challenging by underlying endometriosis. Once I got pregnant I puked every day for 36 weeks and two days. That’s right. There was not one day I didn’t puke. I puked at work, I puked at 2 A.M., I’d literally open my eyes in the middle of the night puking already. I puked on almost every single doctor in my OB-GYN practice. I also had horrible insomnia and didn’t sleep for more than 2 hours at a time for the second and third trimester. Pregnancy sucked. I never felt good until three days after they came out. I had pre-eclampsia the day I delivered and spent the first 24 hours on a magnesium drip, still puking with a fresh incision. In the midst of my puke laden pre-eclampsia nightmare I lost vision in my eyes (which I got back), and I had people sticking two newborns on my boobs. So there was that.

It was ultimately successful and worth it in so many ways but when I tell you I was traumatized by my pregnancy I am not lying. The thought of being pregnant again could bring me to tears if I thought about it.

I remember returning to work after an 18 week maternity leave. At that point I had not been at work for four months since having the boys and not at work without being pregnant or undergoing fertility treatments for over a year. I felt like I was returning as a different, calmer, more sleep deprived, happier individual. I was still breastfeeding and had to adjust to pumping multiple times a day and picking up and dropping off at daycare. I remember the first week back one of my co-workers asked me when I’d have “the next one.” My sleep addled brain could not quite comprehend what she was asking. When I politely responded, “Funny,” and tried to move the conversation onto another topic she didn’t let it go. I had to get somewhat defensive and say, “I’m not having another one.” Then I was told how wrong I was and that in a year or two I’d change my mind and have more. As if I couldn’t possibly make judgements about my body and my future in that moment.

It felt very wrong to me for many reasons. First off, I am very private, and I did not feel that was any one’s business. Second, that particular person knew the horrible journey through infertility and pregnancy I endured. To casually suggest I go through that all over again made me want to vomit. Third, once I said a very overt No, I should not have been pushed or pressured or shamed to feel that was the incorrect response.

Since that day multiple people have asked me if I will have another child. Friends, family, strangers, clients, and co-workers have all asked me. When I have emphatically said No I have been told on multiple occasions that I am wrong and will change my mind. I’ve been told by straight women who do not know I’m married to a woman, “That’s what I said after the first, and whoops!” I haven’t quite had the heart to say “Actually I’m a lesbian so I’d need a lot of whoops’ including a man shooting sperm that somehow accidentally lands in my vagina. Then that sperm would need to make it through my endometriosis filled tubes to my potential eggs which by the way required IVF previously to bypass the tubes. That would be one of hell of a whoops.” But I think it. Every time.

If I was married to a man and all it required was a “whoops” then who knows maybe I would get pregnant again? Most likely not intentionally as twins did a number on my body and I hated having a C-section and would not care to repeat the entire experience. But I’m married to a woman. So being pigeonholed by heterosexual women into a female who can’t possibly feel fulfilled with one pregnancy (which by the way yielded two kids) kind of pisses me off.

It makes me feel mad because perhaps I would have more perhaps I wouldn’t but don’t presume to know my past and my future just because you had multiple pregnancies. Underneath my initial defensive response is pain and uncertainty. I feel like I’m being scraped a little raw during these exchanges.

I also feel for every other woman who struggled to have one pregnancy because I’ve been there. To poke and prod at those wounds by telling them they should have a second pregnancy, when perhaps they do want more than anything to have that, but they can’t, I find that just plain mean.

There are women who have emergency hysterectomies during their first delivery due to complications with bleeding and so while they may want more than anything to have a second pregnancy they physically can’t. They could be lesbians. Finding sperm can be challenging and expensive and then simple at home inseminations don’t always work, turning into expensive fertility treatments.

Then there are people who are completely fulfilled with one pregnancy, one child (or two), and simply don’t want more kids. Yes we exist. Stop telling me we don’t. It’s annoying.

I’ve never had much of a filter. But I was raised to be polite. I would never ask a woman if she’s wanting anymore children unless it’s professionally related as a health care provider and need to know if she’s planning a pregnancy because that would change the medication choice I make if prescribing for her. I would never pass judgement on someone for wanting or not wanting another pregnancy. It may seem like a casual friendly inquiry, but for many women it’s anything but casual and can bring up many painful emotions.

My advice is to operate on a need to know basis. Do you really need to know if this woman is planning a second pregnancy? If the answer is No, then don’t ask. If the answer is Yes then ask but then stop talking. Let them answer, respect their answer, and move on. And straight people…not everyone is straight. Some women sleep with other women. They can’t get pregnant by accident.

Why I’m Not Wearing Underwear

So this whole C-section business is very misrepresented.

Also the whole twin pregnancy situation.

Here’s the situation. I’ve lost weight since giving birth twenty-two months ago. But there remains a couple things that people don’t tell you about before a C-Section. 1- a large scar and 2- a pooch. In my case a large pooch. A pooch my friends is stretched out skin and likely fat now, that may never go back into where it used to be. I did not have a six pack pre-baby but I could wear button jeans in a size 10. That was my happy slim size. I am 5’7″ and when I was at my healthiest in terms of diet and exercise it was a comfortable size 10. Now I think of a size 10 as some far off dream land that I will never see again.

Because even if I get pants in my “size” they don’t quite make it around the pooch and then they kind of push in on my scar, and the whole thing is just freaking uncomfortable. Enter the world of “Mom” pants. I never knew why mom pants had elastic waistbands. I assumed it was because all mom’s got fat and lazy. Just kidding. Sort of. I didn’t realize that it was because mom’s have babies which leaves your body a fucking mess.

I discovered the world of stretchy pants. Because buttons just freaking hurt. When I voiced this to my friend, also a mom of twins, she said it took her six years to be able to wear jeans with buttons. SIX YEARS! Other mom’s I’ve talked to have said 2-6 years yes.

Now let’s talk about underwear. Today I went to put underwear on after a shower. I had recently purchased some new sets. Yes they are the right size. But if they go above the scar then they kind of roll down because of the freaking pooch and if they go below the pooch it hurts the scar and has a weird look of muffin-top-ish through my pants. So I tried on three pairs this morning after my shower. Becoming more and more upset with each pair. The last pair I actually put the pants on too and was like come on suck it up it’s fine it’s just underwear.

I felt it start to roll down the pooch under my pants…I started to cry. I went to pull down my pants to try on another pair, when I remembered my cotton pairs are down in the dryer, so with my pants at my knees I grabbed scissors in my drawer and cut off the offensive pair threw them in the wastebasket, stopped crying, said “Fuck this” and am now not wearing underwear.

The first year I breastfed. I had to keep a supply up for twins and my breastmilk supply would tank without carbs. So I had a really hard time the first year trying to lose because I had to eat so damn much to keep up the supply. Now I am into the second year. I am proud to say I am losing. I am exercising more, and I am eating much fewer carbs and more vegetables. I’ve probably dropped pant sizes but I refuse to try them on yet. I’m good with yoga pants and dressier yoga pants. My bras got bigger and my shirts pre-pregnancy are starting to fit again which is great. But it’s hard. I have a lot more respect for Mom’s who are overweight now than I ever did before.

Because I don’t feel good about myself, and I’m sure other mom’s with baby weight still hanging on also don’t feel good. It’s also really sucky to not be able to buy sexy underwear or just any underwear that’s not plain cotton from the maternity store for going on two years now. Our society praises the young thin and beautiful. But most women’s bodies have scars. We have stretch marks. We are thick. We have droopy boobs because of breastfeeding. We have pooches- some bigger than others- and that’s okay. We have dark circles under our eyes because let’s face it even when they aren’t babies they still don’t sleep or maybe that’s just mine.

Recently I went to work with my hair done, jewelry on, make-up done, and looking confident because I was wearing a pre-baby shirt. Two co-workers commented on how good I looked and I’m like- so this is how I used to look every day- what the fuck have I been rolling in looking like for the past twenty-two months? But then I was thinking, well probably looking like I was up all night with two babies. Walking out the door getting spit up on. Walking out the door without my make-up on or forgetting to brush my teeth. I learned fast as a mom to have double supplies- one set at home and one set at work.

I remember feeling like I should get a medal every morning walking into work when I first went back with twenty week old twins. It was a freaking miracle we all made it out the door in the morning.

I’m going about my fitness and health journey in my own way and in my own time. I’m trying not to pressure myself and just letting things happen. I’m trying to make healthy choices and I’m seeing the results.

But I’d support any mom who says fuck it and eats her bowl of ben & jerry’s every night because that’s her five minutes of heaven after a day and night of hell.

My point to this is that we as women and Mom’s should support each other. We also shouldn’t be trying to live up to this crazy ideal society places on us. I mean did you see George Clooney’s wife three months after giving birth to twins? I wanted to kill her. But I recognize that she clearly had a different journey than mine. I’m trying to respect that and not want to kill her. It’s hard.

Anyway. Any time you or your wife loses her mind over underwear or jeans or a bra or a shirt in a post-baby body. Just hug yourself or hug her and say we will get there. But if you have to cut the offensive piece of clothing off to feel good, then fucking do it.