Two months ago, I found out I was pregnant, and I immediately burst into tears.
They were happy tears, because my husband and I had been trying for the past three and a half years. Not only that, but we’d been about to try a third round of IUI. Talk about dodging a bullet. That whole process is a pain in the ass.
After the at-home test was confirmed by blood work and an ultrasound, I transitioned smoothly into Crazy Neurotic Person Who Worries About Everything:
Will I break the baby with coffee?
Will I break the baby with yoga?
Will I break the baby because I keep tossing and turning in bed?
Holy crap I forgot I’m not supposed to eat soft cheeses. Did I break the baby?
(My OB/GYN assures me that, unless I smoke crack, the baby should be fine. This is why I love her.)
Then — after going through a phase in which I wondered if the baby was actually just a food baby from too many spinach balls — I decided to preemptively worry about how my identity as a sex writer might affect my child. Here are just the first seven things that popped into my head:
7. Will my child expect me to be competent when it comes to The Sex Talk just because I’m a sex writer? Because I’m pretty sure it will still be super-awkward. (I already have plans to order Cory Silverberg’s What Makes a Baby and Logan Levkoff’s Third Base Ain’t What It Used to Be.)
6. Will my child be embarrassed by my tendency to expound on the topic of sex when it comes up in conversation? I have been known, after all, to start quoting various self-help books and bits of research mid-coitus. I can ruin a mood like nobody’s business.
5. Will my child assume I’m a proponent of free love just because I’m a sex writer, and become sexually active long before I’m ready to mentally and emotionally handle that reality? And will I become an insufferable helicopter parent as a result?
4. Will my child hear about some of my more colorful clips from someone else and be mercilessly teased because of it?
3. Will I get in trouble for accidentally saying something inappropriate to someone else’s child? Or, more likely, will I get in trouble because I taught my child about sex at a young age, my child repeated that information to another child, the other parent found out, and the shit hit the fan?
2. Will my child find my stash of vibrators and lube and erotica and become so traumatized they need to be in therapy for life?
1. And the worst scenario I can possibly conceive of: Will my child come across my published pieces… the ones that describe me trying out a Sexerciseball for the first time… the ones that detail mine and my husband’s sex life… the ones that reveal far more than any child needs to know?
Oy.
Best to just stick to worrying about the basics: breaking the baby.
How wonderful!! I don’t know much about babies, but it doesn’t sound like anything you’re doing will break the little bean. Rather, you’re doing great… simply because you’re worrying about those things (versus the crack-smoking mothers who probably don’t think twice about coffee or cheese). Congratulations, Steph!