I wore a high-waisted sundress, and my big bump was outshone only by my new double-D chest. It felt great, but I was entering my third trimester and needed to take it easy. After that, I was huge, sweaty and slammed with work.We bonded over our views on the public school system (yes, please! I like to think I took myself off the market, but truthfully, only a man with a pregnancy fetish would have wanted me—and, yikes. ” I was so happy, I couldn’t even find words to express my gratitude. In fact, I already had so many warm feelings around my pregnancy that I quite longed for a handsome man to take me to dinner and share stories and secrets. I could live with being single, but everything about my childlessness felt wrong. If anyone wanted to call it weird, well, they weren’t welcome on this journey with me. I wanted to date for the pleasure of it, not because I was a 37-year-old woman hunting for a husband or a baby daddy before the clock ran out. I never hesitated in telling the truth about my story—to anyone. I’d been dying to have a baby before it was too late, and though I’d come close with a couple of exes, I still wasn’t sure what I was looking for in a man.
And after a while, I got it: The majority of them were looking for someone to start a clean future with, and I came with strings attached.Not only would I be having a newborn in several months, but I couldn’t even meet up for a proper drink.Also, should we end up liking each other, it might be a lot to explain to their friends, colleagues and families.One day, I missed an important conference call; Hazel wouldn’t stop screaming in the background, and I had to hang up.I thought they’d understand, but it turned out that no one from that call wanted to work with me again, and I’d been counting on the money. And one day, I would really like to have someone to share those shivers with. At least I finally have more of a sense of what I’m looking for.