forgetting intuition, forgoing the mystical

that time i thought i was pregnant in paris

after miscarrying sex became brutally utilitarian. there was just so much of it, needed at such a specific time each month, and i was never really sure if i was getting the ovulation window entirely right. some months i was so tired just by the thought of it, i’d wonder if taking a day off was fair to myself and my family.

in the end we did it ten days in a row. i don’t recommend, by the way, but we were so happy to be back in brooklyn and seeing our friends and i was going to a fertility acupuncturist and learning about my cycle and taking chinese herbs and there was honestly nothing that could have stopped me from trying everything we could that month.

march first, my thirty third birthday, i took a pregnancy test in a coffee shop bathroom and kept the good news from dan for an entire work day. for one day, it was just me and my second pregnancy bursting at the seams to tell my wfh coworker who was holding meetings in our bedroom.

the first time i got pregnant i just blurted out about a positive test, didn’t even consider doing something cute to share the news. dan thought i had covid. i don’t know, it was my pregnancy with our DNA, it just felt more urgent and obvious to make it shared knowledge as soon as possible. but i kind of confused dan with my approach, so i knew i wanted to do something a bit more well planned this time.

i’d tucked a ‘yay baby’ card into my bedside drawer at some point during the trial and error process of monthly misfires, but i couldn’t find it that day. and again, dan was working from our bedroom, so i couldn’t exactly go scrounging. instead i found a photo from our wedding that i’d printed — we’re seated at our one long table, it was sometime in the middle of our three hour feast with friends and family, my head is rested on his shoulder, dress billowing out from under me in the opposite direction. it’s the back of us looking forward. a snapshot in time, one of the many moments we took to pause and take in the magic around us that day.

today, those moments have become so characteristic of who we are and how we move through the world. we’d be so lost without the time we take to pause and appreciate exactly where we are, and the whole gamut of reality that entails.

on the back of the photo i wrote something like congratulations! you’re going to be a father this november. plus something deep and heartfelt, of that i’m sure, but i didn’t want to leave anything up for interpretation so i didn’t get too poetic.

as we’re going over the drink menu i tell the waiter we need another minute and i slide the photo in a greeting card envelope across the table. dan opens the card and sees the photo, flips it over and reads slowly. he looks up at me as a question to confirm and i just bob my head up and down a whole lot. i know he doesn’t want to make a scene so we just kinda sit there with big ole smiles and watery eyes. and beneath our joy is the sobering knowledge that this pregnancy might not make it to term either. somehow we find it inside of ourselves to hold this fear, anxiety and excitement for the next nine whole months before our baby has fully developed. and for those last few weeks of pregnancy i’m uninhibitedly excited for the first time, knowing i can go into labor safely any day. but at this moment, on this birthday, we’re at the beginning. i’m finally pregnant again and we’re celebrating, and that’s all that matters.

CONCEPTION SEX

shortly after i got my IUD removed we told our friends that we were trying to get pregnant and one of dan’s best friends said “buckle up brother, you’re a work horse now, it’s exhausting.” we laughed and were like, sure sure sure, that will never be us. he was so kind and funny when he said it, so when we began to feel like sex was a chore, it helped us to feel normal.

i wanted to do everything i could to optimize for implantation.

sex became more like training for a professional sport than making love. i had a highly comprehensive fertility tracking app where i logged everything from my mood to my temperature to god knows what. an armband that tracked my temperature as i slept. the finest food-based prenatals that amazon could offer. and i meticulously studied my underwear throughout the day, attempting to decipher the markings like tea leaves.

i asked my ob what else i could be doing, when to worry and when to seek intervention. she said “talk to me in a year, before a year it’s not considered to be a fertility concern by medical standards.” but so much can happen in a year. every month is so emotionally and physically taxing, it’s like the emotional turmoil of a job search on steroids. the idea of just throwing out a bunch of resumes in the form of conception sex every month, for twelve months, felt awful. to just sit back and hope for the best before i started asking questions and seeking advice… that became really hard for me.

talking to other women and mothers helped me learn how to advocate for myself within our health system. just because something is considered standard or best practice didn’t mean that i needed to accept it as the final and only option.

but i held onto the idea that everything was fine if i didn’t get pregnant within a year. it was mild comfort at best and entirely unhelpful for me to understand the mechanics of how to get pregnant.

this was shocking to me, how schools and medical professionals took for granted that we knew how to conceive. as if it’s simple. we’d grown up fearing for our fertile lives that we’d become teenage parents if we slipped up — just one missed condom could ruin your future! and here i was, a grown ass woman, wondering how easy it would have really been.

from my not-fact-checked-memory there’s about a thirty six hour window in which you can get pregnant each month. DOUBLE DIGIT HOURS. that’s it. and, despite all of my meticulously tracked bodily data, i was still really confused about how to tell if i was actually in the ovulation window or not.

nobody taught me how to get pregnant.

so i cobbled together advice from my fertility app and the internet and did my level best. added on a couple of days on either side. oh, and maybe twice a day because, again, it is a matter of hours. so, just to be sure!

layer in a heavy dose of grief and debilitating depression and that’s where we were. he lost his sister and i lost my pregnancy and we both lost an auntie and our hope of a child. after only a handful of months of being dan’s support in his time of need, our grief tables turned and he held it together when i couldn’t.

we just did our best to make it happen.

there was nothing fun about conception sex.

FORGETTING INTUITION, FORGOING THE MYSTICAL

the first time i got pregnant i swear i know the moment it happened. maybe that’s true, maybe it wasn’t, i’ll never know. but i was positive. and then i tested positive.

so when we started trying again i kept looking for the signs. if i was really tired, i became hopeful. was it an upset stomach, or was i nauseous? it felt like we made a baby that time, did it feel like that to you? i think i’m pregnant.

and then i’d near the testing window and break into a clearblue pack only to let myself down. i’d tell myself it was too early and then continue testing anyway. i’d search my mind and my body tirelessly for signs, any clues that this was the month.

there were so many times i was sure that i was pregnant. i could just feel it, i just knew.

the worst was when we were in paris for our one year wedding anniversary. at that point i had given up on my intuition entirely, shut it down and locked it out. i was going by facts and only facts — or what i thought were facts.

i wasn’t supposed to get my period for another week.

we were out to dinner on october second twenty twenty two and i got up to use the restroom at the end of the meal. we had plans to go bar hopping afterwards and i wanted to freshen up. i sat down to pee and saw a brownish blood in my underwear and smiled so huge. when i was pregnant i bled a little throughout the day, everyday. this brownish pregnancy bleed, i forget why it happens to some, but i knew it was common and a good sign.

holy shit. we were in paris and it was our anniversary and i was pregnant. i couldn’t think of anything better.

i wiped and was relieved to see that it was still brown. not period colored. i practically ran back to the table to tell dan.

i sat down, reached my hands across to find his, looked him in the eye and said i’m pregnant. he was like wait are you serious and i’m like absolutely, i’m bleeding like i was when i was pregnant and i’m not supposed to get my period until next week this is definitely it — fuck the bars, we need a pharmacy!!

the fantasy that was playing out in my head was next level hollywood. i got the check right away, breezing past whatever delicious desserts were on offer. got a Free Now ride to the nearest pharmacy, twenty minutes out, and together we zoomed off into the night.

the pharmacy was packed and i wondered how many of us were there for contraceptives and pregnancy tests, opposite ends of the need-it-now conception spectrum. dan and i split up looking for the european equivalent for my favorite panty liners, he knew those details about me by now, and a pregnancy test we could read in english. wow, a french positive, what a story we’d tell our kid one day.

we waited in the long line at checkout and then ordered a ride home. i’d searched for an in-pharmacy bathroom, but there was none. i’d have to wait another twenty minutes to pee on a stick back at the hotel, it was agony.

when we got back to our room i kicked off my shoes in the bathroom, dropped my jacket on the tile floor, and carefully inspected the instructions on the pamphlet. pretty much the same as in the states, sick. i peed on the stick, carefully placed it on the sink counter and set my timer. i couldn’t wait to tell dan the good news !!

but there was only one line.

i sunk onto the floor in disbelief. at some point dan knocked and then gently let himself into the tiny bathroom, made himself fit within the three by three tile next to me. i could barely see through my tears. he tried to comfort me, but i was in a rage. i wanted him to hurt as much as i hurt. i wanted to hurt him. how could my body betray me like this. how was it possible. i’d given up on the signs, but this bleed was a physical fact. this was pregnancy blood. i knew this blood. how wasn’t i pregnant. why. something had to be wrong. maybe i tested too early. but deep down i knew that i’d misread the signs, yet again.

dan tried to move me out of the bathroom to see if i could be soothed. that worked for about a minute before i let loose with my words, throwing daggers shoddily in his direction. running out of steam and then feeling so distraught like should we just try to leave the hotel, maybe i’ll feel better if we get out. i don’t know if i can get up. i don’t know what to do i don’t know what to do i don’t know what — i need my sister.

i called her, a woman who knew periods. do you think it’s possible i could be pregnant like maybe it’s too early like maybe i will test positive? she sweetly said it’s more likely that i’m getting my period early because of the flight and the time change and she explained how travel can mess with your cycle.

i had no idea. but i wasn’t supposed to get it for a week, surely there’s no way a six hour flight could mess with my body’s rhythm like that. but she said yes, it happens to her. she said to be nice to dan and to try and get some sleep, maybe watch a funny movie, check back in with her. so we did, hopefully i apologized to dan, and eventually i fell asleep.

the next day we moved to a different part of town to a different hotel. it was stunning, it was so gorgeous, it was so everything i could have hoped and dreamed for an anniversary celebration. here was where i’d find out that i was pregnant. this was a great place to take another test.

but when i went to pee my bleeding had turned hot pink. definitely not pregnancy blood. and there was a lot of it. more like a period, a hot pink period. i called my sister again. my new period specialist and one of the five women who knew i’d miscarried. okay tell me about hot pink, i said, that’s — that could still be pregnancy blood though, right? it’s possible, right? she took on my role as big sister and calmly said no. no, i’m so sorry annaliese, you’ve got your period. that’s period blood. i know it’s not what you want, but you’re going to be okay. dan’s got you, i’ve got you. you’re in paris! have a good cry and then go enjoy yourself. try to enjoy yourself, this one wasn’t meant to be.

i picked another fight with dan. this one was what i call a productive fight, one that really gets to the heart of an issue, but sorta needs to be wrestled through all ugly like at the beginning. like there’s no other way to do it. we had one of those. worked through some things we needed to work through and repaired. comforted each other and resolved to find some food.

i drank heavily and he smoked cigarettes. we didn’t know it then, but the next time we’d be in paris i’d be twenty weeks pregnant and he’d be almost a year out from quitting smoking altogether.