Dating Pregnant
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Dating Pregnant
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When I was pregnant, the last place I expected to find myself was on Tinder . But when I got dumped by my baby daddy five weeks in (despite the fact we’d been together for 12 months, it had actually never been that serious), I decided to dust off the heartbreak and embrace dating while I still had the stamina and—let’s be honest—a relatively flat stomach.
I didn’t create online dating accounts so that I could start serial swiping for a one-night stand, nor was I seeking a father figure for my impending arrival—I knew even in those early days that being blessed with a baby was all the love I needed for a while. Instead, I attribute my urge to enter the world of dating-while-pregnant to pure FOMO. From everything I’d read about raising a kid, I knew I’d barely have time to shower once the Bub arrived, so I couldn’t imagine when I’d next be able to paint my nails and smack on some lipstick for a casual hang with a stranger.
The idea that I wouldn’t be able to date in a few months made me want to do it even more. Honestly, I still wanted to be desired by the opposite sex and have that feeling of wondering what a date might lead to—a hookup, a holiday romance, a love affair—rather than letting my pregnancy turn me into someone who was OK with feeling overlooked. Plus, my posse of girlfriends was neatly divided between those who were shacked up with long-term partners and those who were still hitting the playing field hard. I wasn’t sure where I fit into the dynamic: I’d just been broken up with but I couldn’t exactly drown my sorrows in a bottle of tequila, and I didn’t want to test my newly weakened gag reflex (thanks, morning sickness!) by hanging out with a smug, married crew. What I wanted was to enjoy digital dating before my days were filled with changing nappies and taking naps.
When it came time to make my profile, I figured a complete stranger didn’t have the right to know every detail of my personal life. After all, I hadn’t even told the majority of my friends and family during the early stage of my pregnancy. Should I actually hit it off with someone well enough that they asked me out for a second date, I’d go, and if we hit the trifecta, I’d reveal the truth behind my hearty appetite and frequent trips to the restroom. Otherwise, it was probably none of their business.
So at eight weeks' pregnant, I started swiping. First, I hit it off with an actor who I met for iced coffee one sticky summer afternoon. Before we met, I prayed he wouldn’t be one of those dudes who asked leading questions, like if I had kids or wanted kids or liked them? That would’ve been too confronting, and possibly too tempting for me to blurt out my little secret, but he didn’t ask and we said goodbye. By the second date I went on—with a guy who used the F-bomb or worse in every sentence—it occurred to me that I was so passionate about punching some holes in my date card that I’d conveniently forgotten how hit-or-miss the whole damn process can be. Still, I wasn’t ready to delete my profiles just yet.
I met Contestant Number 3 for pizza at a hole-in-the-wall trattoria on the Upper East Side. The dress I wore was way too tight for my 10-weeks'-pregnant body, and I spent two hours self-consciously trying to cover my curves with an array of accessories—my handbag, a napkin, I even wedged myself behind a potted plant while he paid the bill. He made it clear he didn’t have time for anything serious, “in case you’re looking to get involved,” but texted a few days later to see if I wanted to meet up “for some ‘casual fun.’”
I let my mind wander for a moment, my hormones and my head clearly at war. Sure, I wanted to be touched and kissed, but something felt wrong at the same time. I declined, telling myself that my now-bloated figure was not in the mood for writhing around with a stranger. But really, it just didn’t feel right to be under the covers with someone who wasn’t the father of my baby. It seemed not only irresponsible but also disrespectful to my unborn child. He typed back a simple “OK,” and for the rest of the night a tape of what it might’ve been like kept playing over in my head. Were the “pregnancy guilts” stopping me from dating like I really wanted to? I decided locking lips was about as much casual fun I could handle.
Date four came in under the wire, just as my bedtime was edging toward sundown the further into my pregnancy I moved. I met the guy at a dugout bar over a few drinks (nonalcoholic for me), and when he walked me home, what I thought might be a quick kiss goodnight turned into a lengthy makeout session. My hormones were racing and my skin was tingling as our lips met, but as his hands started grasping at areas I wanted to keep out of bounds, I pushed pause on my desire and ended it with a “Good night.” Nothing came of it, except for a “Say WHAT?!” comment he left on a social media post where I showed off my bump six weeks after our date. I was so curious to know what he actually thought. Was he annoyed? Confused? I’d never know, and I was kind of pleased with myself for remaining mysterious.
When the pregnancy hormones really kicked in, I was definitely craving intimacy of the physical kind, but by that stage my little bump had inflated to eye-catching proportions. Since I could no longer have the carefree time I craved without automatically revealing my pregnancy, I started embracing my blossoming belly. I didn’t miss dating—I was too tired and busy planning for a newborn, and when I wasn’t doing that, I discovered more imaginative and risk-free ways to satisfy the urge. Solo.
The curious thing is, when I was in the third trimester and looking/feeling like a hot-air balloon, I was asked out not once but twice in the street. OK, so it was winter and I was wearing a coat and clearly the guys didn’t realize straightaway. In fact, the second guy, who had the confidence to approach me on a busy sidewalk, was clearly mortified and swiftly turned and ran in the other direction when I pointed at my belly. Still, it was flattering and made me appreciate that pregnant glow. I mean, who among us wouldn’t want to be the girl that gets approached by a handsome foreigner on the street?
Today, it’s unlikely I’ll be spontaneously hit on walking with a five-month-old strapped to me, hiding sleepless nights behind big sunglasses and struggling with a diaper bag the size of a vacation carry-on. But dating is the last thing on my mind since I now spend every day with the love of my life. I don’t know when, but I’ll jump back into dating one day—as much as I love my little girl, I want to have some adults-only fun again. When the time comes to swap story time for some stilettos, maybe I’ll even change my profile to “seeking single dad.”
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If you like to walk on the wild side, you’ll need to do your research about safety and pregnant bodies. My first date after the morning sickness subsided was with a kinky butch on an interstate work trip. I couldn’t lie on my back for long because it made me dizzy. I couldn’t lie on my right side for long because it put pressure on my liver. I had to leap up midway through making out and shut all the doors because the smell from the kitchen was making me feel nauseous. My head always needed to be higher than my belly, I didn’t want to put my hands above my head, and I was so uncomfortable on a daily basis that I certainly didn’t want any more pain in my life, which canceled out the majority of her plans. The list of things I didn’t want her to do was so long, we ended up opting for good-old vanilla sex instead.
On another kinky interstate Tinder date, one I scored right before the cut-off for being too pregnant to fly anymore, I was better prepared. This date was into ropes and bondage, so she diligently spent an entire day reading and consulting doctors about safe ways to tie me up. The hardest thing was finding a position that was comfortable for me. I couldn’t be on my knees because my gigantic belly made me topple over. I couldn’t be upside down because of heartburn. I couldn’t stand for long because my feet ached, and lying down was such a complicated process involving pillows and bolsters that we ended up with me bound in a beautiful pattern of shibari knots while sitting comfortably on a kitchen chair.
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More stories to check out before you go
Some people date during pregnancy because they’re hoping to find the one with whom to raise said child. Others are just really horny. Whatever your motivation, bear in mind that having a baby puts an immense amount of pressure on even the most solid, well-established relationships. You’re dangerously tired, the baby cries and gets sick and cries again, and if you’re like a lot of people, your sex drive completely vacates the building. The last thing you want to be dealing with on top of all that is the fallout of a breakup. So, unless you’re open to taking that risk — and starting a serious relationship during your pregnancy — it pays to be upfront from the very beginning that you’re just looking for something casual.
I remember I wrote in my own Tinder profile, “7 months pregnant — solo mum by choice. Not looking for a co-parent, just looking for some fun before the baby arrives.” After all, there’s no point in hiding the fact that you’re pregnant (that would have been impossible for me anyway by the time I felt well enough to have sex), and I wanted to be clear from the beginning that I wasn’t open to sharing my baby.
If you’re planning to date while you’re pregnant, that’s great. (After all, a little-known fact is that during pregnancy, there’s a massive increase in blood supply — including blood flow to your genitals , which makes anything sexual feel hot .) You will do fine and likely have a lot of fun. You just need to be wary of a few things.
If you’re one of the lucky few who doesn’t get sick, you’ll be good to go from day one. Otherwise, get a Netflix subscription and a truckload of crackers, and batten down the hatches until you feel better.
There are plenty of people who are drawn to pregnant bodies. The only issue there is that you may run the risk of being fetishized — which, by the way, can be a hell of a lot of fun! But if you’re uneasy about that idea, stick to using headshots in your online dating profiles as a starting point to weed out the fetishists.
The things I used to like sex-wise weren’t the things I wanted at seven or eight months pregnant. A casual lover came to visit me once and leapt straight into doing things the way we’d done them six months earlier. Old Me had liked it hard and rough and fast; New Me apparently wanted slow and gentle. The date was a complete flop.
You get gassier for one thing. Right at the crucial moment during a one-night stand, I started farting and couldn’t stop. I had no choice but to grit my teeth and try to ignore it until it was all over. After that, my orgasm kick-started six hours of Braxton Hicks (false contractions). Needless to say, I barely slept all night.
Unbeknownst to me, I’d developed an epic snore during my pregnancy. I only discovered this when I was at a new lover’s house for a long weekend and woke up the first morning to discover she’d had to spend the night on the couch.
I don’t mean with sex — as long as you’re safe, you can keep doing that right up to the end (or even during labor, as many do for pain relief!). But no, I mean careful with your emotions . Your hormones are running high at this point. In my final weeks, I somehow got it into my head that I wanted to get back together with my ex (we’d split up years ago, but we’re now good friends). So what did I do? I asked her to be there with me at the birth. I cried when I imagined us exhausted, all covered in blood and sweat and holding a newborn baby together. She was in a committed relationship at the time and was completely unavailable, but I was swept up in a hormonal romantic fantasy, and if I’m honest, I was also a little scared. I was on the brink of something huge, and the idea of having someone I loved holding my hand was comforting. In the end, the birth was a complete catastrophe, and in the chaos, I didn’t even consider calling her in.
After all, once the baby has arrived, you’re going to have so little time for — or likely interest in — dating. So, as Janis Joplin once said, you may as well “get it while you can.”
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If you like to walk on the wild side, you’ll need to do your research about safety and pregnant bodies. My first date after the morning sickness subsided was with a kinky butch on an interstate work trip. I couldn’t lie on my back for long because it made me dizzy. I couldn’t lie on my right side for long because it put pressure on my liver. I had to leap up midway through making out and shut all the doors because the smell from the kitchen was making me feel nauseous. My head always needed to be higher than my belly, I didn’t want to put my hands above my head, and I was so uncomfortable on a daily basis that I certainly didn’t want any more pain in my life, which canceled out the majority of her plans. The list of things I didn’t want her to do was so long, we ended up opting for good-old vanilla sex instead.
On another kinky interstate Tinder date, one I scored right before the cut-off for being too pregnant to fly anymore, I was better prepared. This date was into ropes and bondage, so she diligently spent an entire day reading and consulting doctors about safe ways to tie me up. The hardest thing was finding a position that was comfortable for me. I couldn’t be on my knees because my gigantic belly made me topple over. I couldn’t be upside down because of heartburn. I couldn’t stand for long because my feet ached, and lying down was such a complicated process involving pillows and bolsters that we ended up with me bound in a beautiful pattern of shibari knots while sitting comfortably on a kitchen chair.
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