The Pregnancy Paradox

by

Remember when you were 20, and you went travelling or partying, you were probably a little bit buzzed most of the time and may have forgotten to take your birth control pill a few times and may have had a few little-less-than-safe sexual encounters?

And you found yourself taking two pills in the morning or patiently awaiting your period and letting out a sigh of relief when it came?

Turns out, getting knocked up – not that easy.

Ever since I was a kid, I was always the wild child. Never afraid to climb the highest trees, jump in the biggest puddle, ride my bike off the biggest hill (granted, I regretted this almost immediately after making this decision).

At 21 I moved to the other side of the world, proudly gaining the reputation of adventurer, never-know-where-she’ll-go-next-kinda-girl.

A few years later, I did what I had to do and calmed the f*ck down. Got it all out of my system. And now I find myself being the adultest of adults. Married, business owner, home owner, the whole nine yards. Which doesn’t mean I don’t still enjoy riding my bike off the highest hill every now and again.

But in the last few months, I’ve found myself trying to get pregnant. Trying to create life. And as you may have derived of the short character study above, I tend to get obsessed with things. And I like to be number one.

I’ve peed on 11 sticks all up (10 ovulation sticks and one pregnancy test, which I took, of course, immediately after the first time I had unprotected sex because I assumed I’d get the job done on the first go) and it’s not happening.

I’ve never had trouble getting on a plane and seeing where I end up, or quitting my job and seeing what happens, but for some reason, I can’t just let this be.

I think there’s this thing that happens when overachievers try to get pregnant. “I started a business from the ground up, surely I should be able to do the one thing nature practically does for me.” “I almost got murdered hiking through a jungle in Cambodia, surely I can do a thing I don’t even have to really try at.”

And maybe that’s the thing. There is literally nothing you can do but wait for it to happen. If pregnancy were an obstacle course and I’d have to jump through hoops and walk on hot coals and land a perfect backflip in the end, I would do it. I would learn it, practice it, and do it. But this is a game of chance, and I don’t like those.

It brings on this irrational fear that you’re unable to do the one thing you’re supposed to do, purely evolutionary. And to be honest, it kind of makes you feel inadequate, in a way that nothing has made you feel inadequate before.

Because let me tell you, as women we basically live our lives dodging ways society is trying to make us feel like we’re not good enough. Too fat, too skinny, too pale, too dark, too hairy, not hairy enough… But nothing feels quite like the fear of being infertile.

But what happens happens and sometimes, women can’t have babies. And it doesn’t make them inadequate or broken. It makes them more than what nature intended. It makes them women with no strings attached. And it makes them (and maybe me) the purest form of free they’ll (or we’ll) ever be.

 

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