A Pregnant Pause

I was asked once, "If you died today what would be the thing you most regretted not doing". Without a moment's hesitation I said, "Be pregnant". My answer took me by surprise, but after some introspection, I realized it was the absolute truth. Now being a single woman, I am well aware that my desire is not something that should be shouted from the rooftop. The same way men are not suppose to talk about breasts or wanting their wives to stay home; women are not suppose to mention or even hint at the fact they are ready to get married, have sexual desire, or (gasp) ready to make a commitment. Saying you want to be pregnant smacks of all three, and thus represents the utmost taboo. A woman can yammer on all day about her career, or how J. Crew has far superior jeans than The Gap, but one mention of wanting to use her uterus and men become very interested the grout pattern between the tiles under his feet. Perhaps men's Victorian attitude toward the matter stems from a fear that at any moment they will be drawn into a conversation about her cycle, or someone might mention the word "mucus", or they will be having mental flashes of what exactly an episiotomy is for the rest of the week.

My desire has been met with criticism in the past. The most memorable objection was when I was told, "You know at the end of pregnancy there is a screaming invalid to take care of". Yes, I can see how that would be a deterrent. I am by no means saying that I am not ready to have children; I am saying that my desires to be pregnant and to have a baby are not one in the same. They are completely independent of one another. I want to experience pregnancy; to watch my body grow and change, to fulfill its ultimate purpose. Everything we experience in this world comes to us through our senses; we experience the world through our bodies. I already know how great it feels to stretch my muscles after a great night sleep, the flush of blood in my cheeks when I sit in front of a heater, and how silky it is when I rub my freshly shaven leg together. But I am at the end; there is nothing left. I already know what it feels like when tears dry on my face, there is no mystery there. I am ready experience my body in a different way.

I want to know what it feels like to be kicked from the inside. I want to marvel at the sheer size of my swollen abdomen. I want every last one of the million other little experiences that I can't identify because pregnancy is so different than anything else my body has ever done. I want to know life from a different body, from the body of a pregnant woman. When I consider my body as this marvelous machine meant for a higher purpose, I can almost feel a separation of my body and spirit. Pregnancy and ultimately birth are my biological inheritance, it is the fulfillment of the promise made to me at puberty, it is the essence of my feminine heritage. Passing into pregnancy will induct me into a sisterhood that stretches out in both directions of time; connecting me to the score of women who have gone before and enable generations to follow.

Currently I lay fallow as a field and between my job at a fertility center, a pregnant man in the news, and the relative age group to which I belong, it seems everyone around me is pregnant. So at the chance of sounding politically incorrect and at the risk breaking the ultimate taboo, I say loud and unapologetic: I want to be pregnant!