Pregnant Looked

Pregnant Looked
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Here’s How to Watch the VOGUE World Livestream
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Phil Oh’s Best Street Style Photos From the New York Fashion Week Spring 2023 Shows
Here’s How to Watch the VOGUE World Livestream
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Michelle Tea’s New Memoir Queers the Fertility Narrative
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The most restrictive abortion law in the United States is now in effect in Texas. The statute bans abortions after six weeks of pregnancy with no exceptions for rape or incest. There is a provision allowing for abortion in the case of medical emergencies but only those that endanger the life of the pregnant woman. In a draconian twist even for Texas, which has a long legislative history of chipping away at women’s reproductive rights, the law deputizes private citizens to become “bounty hunters,” in Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor’s language , empowering such parties to sue abortion providers, nurses, or even people who drive women to get abortions for a $10,000 award.
The six-week cutoff amounts to an all-but-total abortion ban, as an estimated 85 to 90% of abortions occur after six weeks. It is often referenced with a misleading title—a heartbeat bill, when, in fact, six-week embryos do not yet have developed hearts. (The “flickering that we see on the ultrasound,” Nisha Verma, a fellow at the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists and a physician who provides abortions, told the Texas Tribune , “is actually electric activity.") The six-week cutoff is arbitrary and specious but what has perhaps been underexamined is what that marker actually entails—what comes before and after.
Vogue spoke with six women who experienced a variety of pregnancy situations—from the desired to the unexpected, the confusing, and the tragic—about what six weeks really looks like.
Each time the pregnancy was desired and planned. With my second pregnancy, I was in a cab to catch a flight to Miami when I felt first queasy; I thought: This is motion sickness—damn this traffic. On the plane I passed out in way that wasn’t normal for me; I thought: I’m exhausted from work and caring for a toddler and trying to sustain my relationships with friends. Only when I got back did I put the pieces together and take a test. I was about seven weeks. It wasn’t irresponsibility; it was life.
With the last, most recent pregnancy, I was tracking my cycle to the day—and still, because of irregular periods of varying length, I can’t see how it would have been possible for me to have known (for sure) that I was pregnant at six weeks unless I was taking a test every day. By the time I was pregnant the third time, I was well versed in the early symptoms and very conscious of what might happen and when. Still, I was past seven weeks before I found out.
These were desired pregnancies, but that shouldn’t matter. Saying that a woman can’t get an abortion after six weeks is just saying that a woman can’t get an abortion, period.
When we were trying to conceive my first daughter, I was sure I knew the moment I conceived—ha! I tracked all my symptoms and felt very in tune with my body. Fast forward a couple of years, and I had a 12-month-old whom I was still breastfeeding. Because I was breastfeeding and because I was on the pill (which had always stopped me from getting periods), I hadn’t had my period since before I was pregnant with my daughter.
One day I had a strange metallic taste in my mouth. The only other time I had that taste was when I was pregnant. Otherwise, I didn’t have any symptoms. Maybe my breasts were a little sore, but that wasn’t abnormal. After a few days of the taste, I decided to take a leftover pregnancy test. Honestly, I was just taking it to reassure myself. It never occurred to me that I might be pregnant. I was on the pill, had not missed a single one, and was still breastfeeding a lot.
I was completely shocked to find out that I was pregnant with my second. My ob-gyn thinks I had probably just started ovulating again as I wasn’t exclusively breastfeeding. Also, I was on the low estrogen pill, and anecdotally it turns out that many women get pregnant on it! But the bigger shocker was that when I was finally able to get an appointment at my ob-gyn about four weeks later, it turned out that I was eight-plus weeks when I took the test and I had no idea. How lucky I feel to have been able to make the decision to have the baby and to have been in a place in life when it wasn’t a very difficult decision.
I got pregnant at 25 with my now husband, then boyfriend. I was struggling at my job at the time—it wasn’t a good fit—and I was in no way ready to be a parent. I was also not a very healthy person at the time —underweight and running a lot, and I didn’t have a period so I didn’t think I could get pregnant. I was so naive.
I found out I was pregnant at what the ultrasound tech said was six weeks and two days. Just two days past six weeks. I can’t imagine anyone who wasn’t actively trying to get pregnant really noticing before then. By the time I was morning sick and realized something was up, I was past the six-week stage.
I did get a medical abortion. It saved me from what would have been a very stressful pregnancy and gave me the choice to become a parent when I was financially and mentally stable. It was the right decision. It feels very relevant now given what’s happening in Texas. It’s so important to protect women and let them choose when to become a parent.
My husband and I had been trying to get pregnant for years. We’d had every test run, and there was nothing “wrong” with either of us, so we had no answer for why we were having trouble in both conceiving and in carrying pregnancies to term. We were exceedingly privileged in having the time, money, and resources to begin IVF, and we were really hopeful that it might help us get the result we so desperately wanted.
IVF was not easy, but I responded well, and we were thrilled to get a positive test result less than two weeks after the embryo transfer. Because the doctors knew exactly when conception had taken place, they were able to give me a pregnancy test at the earliest possible moment. I was four weeks and a few days when I found out I was pregnant. I was continually monitored and measured over the next few weeks to make sure the pregnancy was progressing normally, and all looked good.
Then, at an ultrasound at 13 weeks, some physical abnormalities were detected and we were transferred to a maternal and fetal-care center. Blood tests and further ultrasounds confirmed the worst: The baby was extremely compromised, and it was very unlikely it would survive to full-term. If the baby did survive the pregnancy and birth, long-term survival was unlikely and several spinal surgeries would likely be needed during the first year of life. Major organs like the heart and liver would be affected. Driven by compassion, we made the decision to terminate this ever-so-wanted pregnancy at 15 weeks.
I was lucky to have excellent care, a supportive husband and family, and the conviction that I was doing the best I could for my child, but I was absolutely gutted by the roller coaster of attempts, IVF, a positive test received at the earliest possible moment and encouraging further testing only to have the floor fall out from under me in the second trimester. At six weeks, there would have been no way for me, let alone my army of doctors literally monitoring me around the clock, to know that this pregnancy would have the outcome it did. That I was still able to make the choice I did feels like a benediction. That so many women now won’t be able to make that same choice feels like a violation.
I found out I was pregnant in September 2019. It was a huge surprise. My husband and I already had two kids. I had just turned 41. I went to the doctor, and she said, “You are not pregnant enough for me to hear a heartbeat.” It was eight weeks. Because of my age, she went over that statistically your risk of miscarriage goes up and your egg quality goes down. But you’re in that space, thinking, I’m not going to be a statistic.
It was right around Halloween that I miscarried. The doctor said there was no heartbeat, but the baby was growing, which I guess technically makes it a chemical pregnancy. I was so teary. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience. I had to go and have a D & C [ dilation and curettage ] done, which is basically a medical abortion. In December, I went back to the doctor for a follow-up visit and mentioned that I hadn’t gotten a period yet. She said it could take a long time—some women get it right back, and for some it takes longer, like three months.
By February 2020, I still hadn’t gotten a period. I thought, I can’t get pregnant. I haven’t gotten a period. I was away with my family for winter break. I started hearing about this virus going on in China that was coming to America. We come back, and my husband gets really sick, and three days later, the kids get really sick. I didn’t have any outward symptoms—I wasn’t coughing or throwing up, but I didn’t feel well. I was exhausted. I usually go to sleep at one in the morning. Suddenly I was going to sleep at 8:45 p.m. I thought I had COVID.
I called my doctor that week, the second week of March. She told me to take a pregnancy test. It comes back positive. I buy seven more, because why? I have no idea. Seven was the magic number that would prove it to me. They all came back positive. My doctor said she normally wouldn’t see me until eight weeks, but she made an exception. There was my third with a super-strong heartbeat, and I remember just crying. My kids’ school had called saying, “This is the last day of school for an unforeseeable amount of time.” Work was like, “Come pick up your computers.” Everything was just so scary. At that point, I was maybe 11 weeks.
My doctor said, “You are not the first person to think that your pregnancy was COVID.” She said the other thing she gets all the time is people coming in saying, “I’m going through perimenopause,” and then they’re pregnant. A lot of the symptoms in the Venn diagram all overlap. That’s the thing about this abortion law in Texas. You’d need to go for a monthly pregnancy checkup because otherwise you’ll never know.
I had a miscarriage this past winter, and my husband and I were trying again when I took a pregnancy test in June before I was even late. I would have gotten my period that day or the next day, but because I was going to be drinking that night for a family birthday, I thought, Let me just make sure. It was positive! I went to the doctor, and everything looked good. At that point I was just four and a half, five weeks—super, super early. I made an appointment for an eight-week sonogram. If not for my miscarriage, I don’t think my doctor would have seen me before eight weeks.
Two weeks later, walking out the door to a wedding, I started bleeding. I was maybe six or seven weeks—you’re splitting hairs. If we’re in Texas, it would matter. I went for a sonogram, and they didn’t see anything in my uterus. My doctor explained that when you’re just shy of seven weeks, you would see something, a little sac or whatever, but there was nothing. I asked if we needed to find it, and he said, “No. We know it’s not where it should be. We need to give you an injection that will rid your body of the pregnancy before it becomes a major issue.”
I got the injection the next day, and it’s basically chemotherapy. They don’t tell you that, but it’s called methotrexate, which stops your cells from dividing. It stops things from growing inside your body. I was severely ill. Then you get blood draws on your fourth day and your seven-day post-shot to make sure the pregnancy hormones are going down. I ended up needing a second dose.
I’m on social media and watching the news coming out of Texas, and I didn’t actually relate myself to it at first. Then I had this weird revelation, like a light-bulb moment. I hear rumblings of, “in a life-threatening situation, the restrictions would be different.” However, my situation never actually got to the life-threatening point because it was caught early. It was not yet threatening my life but very well could have been. Is this Texas bill trying to say that I would have had to wait until my life was in danger to get treatment for this 100% unviable pregnancy? There’s got to be a better way because then you’re in a race against time. Obviously the people who put this bill together probably have zero understanding or experience of what that’s like.
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Believe it or not, it was a sign of wealth.
When thinking of corsets, the picture that usually comes to mind is that of a tiny waisted Victorian lady, wearing a tightly laced, heavily boned contraption that looks more like a source of pain than a piece of clothing. While this is true to some extent, the first, confirmed corset as a piece of underwear, originated in Italy and was introduced to the women of France in the 1500’s. The long, tight bodice, which was worn under the clothing became popular, and the emphasis was on flattening the chest so that your chest bulged seductively over the top of your bodice. The belly was held relatively flat, but this was not the focus, and there was no attempt to tighten the waist.
Typically made out of multiple layers of fabric, held together by glue, the corset was laced tightly at the back, but there were none of the rigid bines or other similar elements that we see later. As an item of clothing they were worn only by the rich, who were able to afford such things as fancy underwear, and women without money to burn on such luxuries were left to live with big, lace-up bloomers to keep their butts warm and no upper garments to stop the girls swinging freely in the breeze.
Between the 1580’s and the 1630’s there was a trend in England for what has become known as the “pregnancy portrait,” and this example is thought to be Anne, the wife of Sir Philip Constable Bt, of Everingham, Yorkshire, who had several children between 1618 and 1630.
It is unclear why the craze started but as it was the wife's role to pop out as many healthy little puppies as she could to carry on her husbands family line it is possible this was a type of showing off and that the portraits served to say “Hey, look at us, we’re a successful and fertile family.”
The other possibility for the craze is much darker.
At a time when pregnancy and childbirth were incredibly hazardous for a woman, families of wealth could have been commissioning portraits of the expectant mothers
in order to have something to remember them by if they, as was entirely possible, lost their lives while giving birth. Until this time pregnancy was seen as a regular part of everyday life but still something quite private.
However, the commission of a portrait was not a cheap endeavor, and you would only pay someone to come to your home and immortalize you on canvas if you intended to display the finished product for everyone to see. For this reason, these paintings would generally be objects of pride and would be shown in a public area of the house.
This portrait was by the same artist as the first but was painted earlier and is one of the rare sixteenth-century paintings to show the subject smiling. Usually, a woman smiling in this way would be seen as undignified, and they would instead be expected to sit with a neutral expression, but it is refreshing to see a painting of a woman who is clearly depicted as feeling cheerful. The drawing next to it is of a typical corset of the time, in which a woman would never be seen wearing by anyone other than her husband and lady's maid.
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