Babyhood (9780062098788) Read Free Page B

up—thanks.”)
    So, sooner or later, even the most ambivalent of us get worn down by this divine cleverness. And to our pleasant surprise, this Sex for Real was really something. Without those spontaneity-killing trips to the medicine cabinet, there was suddenly a new sense of abandon, a certain devil-may-care flair that put an extra smile on everybody’s face.
    Sometimes you just have to say, “God bless God—He knows what He’s doing.”

Thank You for Sharing
    M y bride and I consider ourselves fairly private people. Between us, we have a handful of close friends who fall into three basic categories: She has a few close friends I don’t really like; I have a few close friends she doesn’t really like; and then, thankfully, we have those special few we both like.
    Babyhood changed that.
    Now we’re suddenly on intimate terms with all sorts of people, including some people that, frankly, neither of us particularly like.
    Once you start trying to get pregnant, the things you talk about with strangers will surprise you. We found ourselves comparing notes with couples we had never met before. Graphic descriptions of body parts and internal workings are exchanged as casually as directions to the airport.
    â€œMy breasts were so engorged I had to pump every two hours, which, let me tell you—really cracked my nipples.”
    These are people who were simply invited to the same barbecue as us. We met over fruit salad.
    But once people hear you’re “trying,” they just open up.
    â€œYeah, my wife and I are trying, too, but no luck yet. We tested my sperm, and Tuesday, my wife’s getting her fallopian tubes Roto-Rootered, and then they’re gonna look around for some of those fibroids. Hey, have you tasted this chicken? It’s dynamite.”
    I certainly understand in theory that if you’re going through an event as universal and wondrous as childbirth, and especially if you’re having difficulties, there is benefit in sharing. But the reality is, I don’t feel like discussing my genitalia with anybody.
    Just announcing that you’re trying seems awfully personal. You’re basically telling anyone in earshot when, how, and why you’re having sex. When did this become acceptable? You certainly didn’t do it before you were trying to get pregnant. If you weren’t specifically trying to conceive, would you stand up at the Thanksgiving table to say, “Folks, just want to let you know—we’re having sex, on the average, two to three times a week, mostly in the missionary position—pass the cranberries?” No. You’d look like an idiot. But by merely having pregnancy as a goal, the lines of discretion and propriety are totally redrawn. You can, and are expected to, share everything.
    And, of course, you then have to provide constant updates.
    â€œSo how’s it going now ? Have you had any success with the sex you two are having? ’Cause I know you’re doing it—you mentioned it at Thanksgiving. I guess what I’m asking is, how much are you doing it? For example, did you do it today? How’d your sex go today ?”
    People want to be part of this pending miracle. Unfortunately, there’s a very fine line between “So, when’s the good news?” and “What’s taking you guys so long?” Because the subtext there is “So, one of you seems to have a medical problem. Am I right? Is something wrong with one or more of you medically, physically, emotionally . . . ? Huh? Huh? Is there? You can tell me . . .”
    There does seem to be at least a modicum of diplomacy in this area. Couples who are having difficulties conceiving generally close ranks and present one united front, so as to protect the feelings of the one whose body is indeed being uncooperative. They stand behind the generic “We.”
    â€œWe’re doing a few