In this week’s story, a woman wonders if she was ghosted because of her pregnancy: 40, single, New York.
DAY ONE
10 a.m. I wake up and see six missed calls and a few texts from my mom. Apparently my parents are on their way to my apartment. They live an hour away. We’d loosely talked about them coming to visit today, but I didn’t know it was confirmed. Now they’re almost here and bringing my niece and nephew. I’m seven months pregnant, having a baby on my own, and they want to see all the baby stuff.
11:15 a.m. I look at Feeld, wondering if today’s the day I make plans with Carl, who opened our first conversation with “I want you so so bad.” A few weeks ago, I told him I’d lost interest in dating and was going to delete my profile. He said he’d wait for me until I was ready.
I didn’t date while trying to get pregnant — it was nearly a year of IUI and IVF. Then once I entered my second trimester, I got horny. I also felt free from the anxiety of not knowing whether I’ll ever have kids, or worrying about meeting a guy who doesn’t want kids. I use Feeld because I think of it as the most truthful and open-minded app. I included my pregnancy — and the fact that I’d used donor sperm — in the first line of my profile. I said I missed flirting and sex and wasn’t looking for anything serious (but am open to it). More than 300 men pinged me. Not all had pregnancy fetishes but some did. One didn’t even have a name, just the moniker “pregnancy kink.” A few single dads told me they know all about pregnancy and it doesn’t scare them. A few others told me it was the coolest or hottest thing ever. I definitely don’t enjoy being fetishized, but the other stuff felt great.
2:13 p.m. I write Carl back and tell him we can maybe make plans this week. He responds immediately. He’s nothing if not persistent.
4 p.m. Nice visit with my family — they’re so excited. My parents have been wonderful. If anything, they’re overwhelming me with their support! My mom can’t understand why I’m not moving back to New Jersey or won’t at least agree to come spend every other week at their house once the baby is born. My parents actually helped pay for IVF and gave me the same budget they gave my siblings for their weddings.
7:03 p.m. They head out, and I walk to meet a friend for dinner. We talk about what films we want to see this week — we’re filmmakers and Tribeca Film Festival is happening right now. We talk about my birth plan, which is not really a plan yet so much as a loose “I’ll be fine!” My friend insists I accept her offer to drive me to the hospital and to be my ride home, and reminds me she and our other friends are there for the birth if I want someone there. I love my friends.
9:30 p.m. I scroll through Carl’s photos again. Could he possibly be as attractive as he looks in these pictures?
DAY TWO
10:45 a.m. I cross the street to go to yoga and hear someone yelling, “I wanna hold that belly all night long.” I’m being catcalled. I catch myself laughing at the absurdity. I’ve never felt less attractive.
11:30 a.m. At a prenatal yoga class, a few women mention how good it feels when their partners massage their backs at night. That sounds nice. I thought so hard about this decision and looked at it from so many angles, and yet it somehow never occurred to me that the vast majority of pregnant women are in happy stages of their relationships and that it might be hard for me to see that all the time. I went to a prenatal yoga retreat at the beginning of my pregnancy and some of the women were baffled by my choice. But I’m excited to solo parent. And not all of the women were like that — one became a fast friend, and she’s meeting me at yoga right now.
2:30 p.m. After yoga with my friend, we walk to her place. She’s giving me her desk. This is so strange but true: I tried to buy the desk on Facebook Marketplace, and it was from her partner! We somehow put it together. And now he is going to help transport the desk from her place to mine. I hate that I can’t do all these things for myself right now, but I love the serendipity of this.
4:30 p.m. I sort baby clothes for what feels like the 100th time, adding two bags’ worth of stuff my aunt brought over last week (in yet another family visit).
7:07 p.m. I message Carl. Why not?
9:40 p.m. Carl suggests Wednesday night at a restaurant in my neighborhood, and asks if 7:30 works for me. It does.
DAY THREE
3 a.m. I’m wide awake. I don’t really sleep anymore. I roll over, hoping it’s at least 6 a.m. It’s not.
11:30 a.m. My feet are swollen. I’m doomscrolling on Instagram instead of editing a script I need to submit today. I freelance as a writer and producer in the film industry, and worked four jobs from January to April. Now I’m working on two. One will end in July and the other ends a week after my due date, but a friend is the showrunner and she said she’ll cover for me if need be. Everyone knows I’m just trying to create a maternity leave for myself, which means going unpaid. When the work feels like too much I remind myself that daycare will be as much as my rent. And I’m lucky — my rent is lower than most because two years ago I found the score of the century, a rent stabilized three bedroom. It’s part of why I knew I could afford to have a baby solo without leaving Brooklyn.
3:45 p.m. In therapy, I talk about Carl. This is only my third session with this therapist, and she tells me she thinks I might like the game of it all more than I like actually dating. She asks about the other guy I spent our entire last session talking about. That was three weeks ago. We went on three dates in one week. The third one we got takeout and watched a movie at his place. It all felt relaxed and easy. I liked talking to him. We made out on his couch. I gave him a great blow job, and we laid naked in bed talking for another hour. Then he went silent. Last time I talked to my therapist, I was spiraling over this. Now I tell her I followed up and he immediately apologized for going silent and said he wanted to hang out again but then made no effort to do so. It sucked, because he was the first guy I’d liked in a few years. Maybe he’d realized he wasn’t into the pregnancy. Or maybe he just didn’t like me. Maybe he’s just ambivalent, she suggested. I’m not sure, but I do know that rejection and pregnancy do not mix well.
5:30 p.m. I text a friend in my neighborhood to ask if she wants to go for a walk or grab dinner. She’s younger, and over the past few years it’s felt all too familiar to see her evolve from “I’m 30 and excited to take dating more seriously!” to “I still want a partner, but how can this be the reality of dating men?”
6 p.m. Over dumplings, I tell her about Carl and the other guy. She asks if there’s any chance I was into the guy because he’s emotionally unavailable. That’s how I’d describe many men I’ve dated in the past. I sometimes wonder if I like them because there’s less pressure or at least more time to decide how I feel before we’re suddenly committed. But no, I don’t think that’s the case this time.
8:15 p.m. I get a text from a friend of a friend who I’m told wants to date me. I’m flattered, but I don’t see the potential. I try to be nice without really engaging.
9:47 p.m. I touch myself and an image pops into my head: Carl going down on me. In the fantasy, I’m so wet that I can hear him slurping. I open Feeld and tell him. He responds immediately and says he wants me.
DAY FOUR
8 a.m. A friend and I go for a quick walk. She’s also pregnant, and we spend most of our time talking about the weird things happening to our bodies. She asks if I’ve felt the baby drop when I orgasm. I haven’t, and I wonder if this is something that only happens when you actually have sex. The last time I had sex was in November, right before I started IVF shots for the second time. It was with a guy I’d been casually seeing until he moved away. We’re friends now. He was excited for me when I told him I’m pregnant.
1:30 p.m. Carl messages to confirm we’re on for tomorrow. He tells me that when we hit it off, we can go back to my place and he’ll pamper me. I assume this means he’ll go down on me. Maybe give me a massage. I try to remember the last time someone went down on me. I miss that more than I miss sex.
3:15 p.m. A friend texts to see if I want to go to a film screening in the city tonight. I say “yes.”
4 p.m. I can’t focus on the script I’m building. I read a chapter of Up in the Old Hotel, a book that the other guy bought me on our second date. Then one from a Haruki Murakami book called Men Without Women, which he also told me he thought I’d like. He was right.
5:35 p.m. I meet my friend at a bar before the screening. She asks how I’m doing, and I admit I’m a bit lonely and bored. I stop short of fully describing because I’m on the verge of tears, and that seems absurd. Pregnancy hormones are wild.
10 p.m. As I wind down in bed, it hits me that soon I won’t be able to do spontaneous things like go on a random date or meet a friend at a screening last minute. I feel a sudden sense of urgency to have fun while I can.
DAY FIVE
7:17 a.m. I go to my 30-week OB appointment. She says everything looks good!
10:45 a.m. My sister calls. We joke about the menu my mom planned for the baby shower she’s throwing me later this month. I don’t really like anything on the menu, and my mom told me the menu is for the guests, not for me. My sister is usually the party planner in the family, and I ask her to intervene. We’re laughing the entire time. She also tells me she wants to come for the birth and for two weeks after, if I want someone there. I feel a deep sense of relief — I do want her there but didn’t want her to ask. She lives in Texas.
12:47 p.m. I want to cancel on Carl but remind myself how much I miss human touch. I distract myself by working for a few hours.
5:45 p.m. I try to take a nap. I’m tired but can’t fall asleep, so I get on my Peloton for 20 minutes.
7:17 p.m. I debate if I want to put shorts under my dress. It doesn’t feel attractive. But neither does having chafed thighs. I put them on, and I turn on the AC in my room as I’m leaving. Just in case we come back here.
7:32 p.m. He’s being seated at a table as I walk up. He’s attractive. Doesn’t seem weird. He’s 33 and works in international business. Doesn’t seem too young, despite the seven-year age gap. He tells me he’s glad we met for dinner first and that he has no expectations. Then he clarifies: Of course he’d like the night to end at my place, but he’s not expecting it.
8 p.m. I keep thinking about how easily the conversation flowed with the other guy.
8:35 p.m. Carl’s holding my hands across the table. It all feels a bit put on. He tells me I have beautiful eyes. I’ve decided I’ll sleep with him and am ready to get out of here before I change my mind. He wants to get another drink before we leave. He says he’s sorry I can’t drink. I tell him I’ve had a glass of wine here and there during pregnancy. He grimaces and asks if it’s really worth the risk. I start to talk about the science and then just say it’s really fine.
9:15 p.m. He’s looking at his phone as we walk up to my apartment. He holds my hand and grabs my butt. It still feels put on. I guess that’s what this all is, when it’s not based on chemistry.
9:22 p.m. He sits on my couch and pulls me on top of him. He pulls off my dress and is immediately sucking on my left nipple. Then he bites it, and I realize just how sensitive my nipples are now. He pushes me in the corner of the couch, and I start giving him head. He tells me he wants to be inside me. I want him to go down on me. To pamper me. As we start hooking up in my stifling hot living room, all I can think about is the AC blasting in my bedroom.
9:35 p.m. This doesn’t feel any different than non-pregnant sex. I tell him I want to move to my room, so I can be on top. At least then I can get more stimulation. The sex is sweaty, even in the AC. I get close to climax, but he moves me just slightly, and I never quite reach it. He does! Afterwards, we lie there for a while. I get up to get water, and when I come back, he’s lightly snoring.
9:45 p.m. He’s awake. We’re lying there naked, his hand cupping my pregnant belly. I worry he wants to stay over. I move his hand lower and he starts fingering me. I’m getting really close to climax again. It’s taking a while but feels like it’ll be explosive. Feeling how wet I am, he moves me onto my side. He tries anal. I stop him, and he pouts slightly but accepts. We start to have sex again, but I get dry. Is this a pregnancy thing? Or am I just losing interest? Now the sex is starting to hurt. I tell him I need him to cum, or I need to stop. A few minutes after he finishes, he walks to the living room and puts his clothes on. We exchange numbers. I tell him my real name; I use a fake one on Feeld. He says he hopes this isn’t the last time he sees me.
10:30 p.m. I watch an episode of And Just Like That … I’ve never watched Sex and the City, new or old, but a doula recently told me to stop watching anything that isn’t happy. And I’ve watched all the series on my list.
1:30 a.m. I wake up with this weird feeling that I need to lock the door. I’ve had so many nightmares lately. Again, hormones.
DAY SIX
10:40 a.m. I remember that last night, a friend texted me. I was on the date and didn’t read it. I do now. It’s about my baby shower.
2:35 p.m. Carl texts. It’s simple: “Thanks for last night.” I thank him for coming to my neighborhood; he says “of course.” I leave it at that. I haven’t decided if I want to see him again but feel certain that if I text in the future, he’ll come back.
4 p.m. A friend calls to ask my advice on the guy she’s been seeing for months. “You’re not into him,” I tell her for the 700th time.
7 p.m. The same friend texts to say she’s going to see the guy again on Sunday. I get it. She wants to be into him. Everyone I know wants to like someone. And yet so few people seem to be connecting.
8:41 p.m. I see a post on an IVF drug resale site. Someone needs a drug I have. I message her.
DAY SEVEN
8 a.m. I wake up with an excruciating charley horse.
1 p.m. I’m thinking about the guy who went silent. He’ll probably be watching a movie at home tonight. He told me that’s what he does every Friday night.
3:30 p.m. I keep comparing the two guys: Carl and the ghoster. The other guy and I talked nonstop for five hours, realizing we like the same authors and places and food. He seemed kind and had manners and smiled when he talked about his nephew. He noticed things around us and joked about them right as I was about to. He wasn’t perfect, which seemed good.
4:30 p.m. I look at paint colors. Should I paint my apartment before the baby’s here? I add a thousand dollars’ worth of paint to a virtual cart. Am I just trying to fill the time? I close the website without buying anything. I’ve never been good at waiting. Nine months is a long time to wait. I kind of regret trying to date again. But I guess it still feels exciting.
6 p.m. I’m about to meet a friend in the East Village, but as I’m walking out the door, I decide I’m too tired. I text her, lie down on the couch, and binge more And Just Like That …
9 p.m. I think about texting the guy who went silent. We could just be friends. I don’t know. I wanted to get to know him. I guess maybe I did get to know him. Silence is information, too.
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