Getting Real: We're Trying to Have a Baby
There it was, the little digital smiley face, blinking at me. I was ovulating and relished in the empowering feeling that the possibility of getting pregnant today was the highest it could be all month long. My body was doing its thing. Instead of texting a creative and terrible “we need to have sex tonight” kind of joke to my wife, I continued staring at the blinking smiley face, a familiar feeling settling in reminding me our journey would be different, involved. My fascination for the fertility test stick disappeared; the blinking smiley felt like a taunt, so I put it down and went along my day to deliver orders.
Sometimes there are those moments in life when being a queer person* is hard. There are hurdles, heartaches, and invisible battles and barriers my straight friends and family will never realize, understand, or endure. For instance, there's traveling, when my wife and I are in a new place, we automatically feel out the territory to register if it feels safe to hold hands or refer to one another as wife in public. This often unconscious sensor comes second nature to me.
But this moment, trying to navigate feelings and orchestrate the logistics to have a baby, this one takes the cake (so far). I’ve been back and forth on being open about parts of this process, but keep coming back to you need to share this.
Share it because representation matters,
because vulnerability can make others feel less alone,
because our story will mirror others,
because these types of beautiful, unconventional pathways to creating life needs amplification,
because there is a lack of awareness and community around this topic.
Of course, my desires are present here, and I want to be able to reflect. So many things we go through are forgotten or challenging to recollect because we ascend to different situations, places, and frames of mind. This will be a way to claim this chapter in my life book, and maybe even create safety for others to share their experience, or more importantly, feel less alone.
As a tried and true Virgo, research, planning, and spreadsheets are a turn on. When Ashleigh and I decided 2019 would be the (hopeful) “year of baby”, I naturally went down the research rabbit hole. From fertility-boosting supplements to browsing midwives, lawyers, and insemination options, I’ve calculated costs, bookmarked resources and have started to prepare my body for optimal conception superpowers with herbs, tinctures, physical activity, magnesium baths, and vitamins. Although it might sound a little overloaded, we don’t have an unlimited amount of attempts to conceive, and I enjoy this process of aligning my body and mind to bring our child earthside. Many things I do to prepare have become a ritual; each time I take my vitamins, I often say out loud, “getting closer to you!”. Although manifestation techniques can have a problematic side (mainly in the privileged spiritual realm), implementing, speaking, and visualizing this baby into existence provides an unexplainable joy and feeling of connection to the exciting ride we’re about to go on.
In digging in this research, it’s come with an unexpected byproduct. Due to the algorithms of the interwebs (mainly search sites), I’m now seeing advertisements for fertility things (vitamins, gadgets, apps, etc.) with smiling straight couples holding a baby. It is rare to see representation for queer people (as well as people of color, trans, disabled, and abundant sized folx) in fertility media. It’s another reminder we’re still trying to justify and navigate our lives in a predominantly white, able-bodied, and heteronormative world. I also think about my friends (they’re all straight) who have and are struggling with infertility and miscarriage, did they see these things on their feeds, too? Was this triggering? Were they okay? I’ve been surprised to find a mutually deep and safe connection with friends who are navigating the world of infertility. Although their experience is a bit different, there are many parallel feelings, and I find comfort in our conversations, tears, and honesty.
This is an example of why representation matters, why my small voice is here to share*. So here we go.
*I do not discount the burdens, fears and injustices transgender, especially black trans people face. I speak from my experience here, and never put my issues on a pedestal to theirs.
*there are parts of this process that will likely not be shared to protect emotions, people, and our family. I’m also trying to draw the boundary between centering and sharing. It’s all a work in progress.