I was halfway through my second pregnancy, when one of the popular girls in the locker room noticed me. Let’s call her D.
D was the class president of 24 Hour Fitness. She had a large, fabulous wardrobe, and she wheeled around a suitcase full of make-up and jewelry. She was also a Mary Kay representative, so she got to know everyone. And eventually, she approached me.
“When did that happen?” she asked, addressing my large belly that was propped up above a tired-looking pair of underwear.
“About five months ago,” I said.
I explained that I was having a baby girl who was due in March. She congratulated me, and then she went about the rest of her duties: choosing pumps, consulting with the other locker room ladies regarding her choice of earrings and drawing a new make-up face on top of her regular face.
This was exciting. She had never talked to me before, even though technically I wondered if she was just talking to my abdomen. If I got to know her better, maybe I could join the other popular girls using the mirrors and blow dryers at the more private end of the room.
Months passed and I had a healthy, 8-pound baby. And then I took three months off for maternity leave. When I returned to the gym, I was anxious to see if I could regain my favorite spot at the mirror or if I would have to work my way back up the pecking order.
“You’re back! How is the baby?” said D, the first day she noticed I was there. I was standing in the third best spot at the mirror coveting a working hair dryer. My social standing was mostly intact. And my baby girl was great.
“Are you going to have any more kids?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely sure? You took care of all that.”
She was gesturing toward my stomach again, which was continuing to get a surprising amount of attention from her. I can assure you that my stomach is nothing special, especially the post-partum version.
“I’m sure,” I said.
Though I wasn’t sure how many times I would have to continue to answer the birth control question. I was absolutely sure that I wasn’t going to accidentally have more kids. Because, I’m gay.
Under normal circumstances I don’t have trouble sharing this with people. But probably because we were surrounded by half-naked women, I felt more self-conscious about this fact of life. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how awkward it would be to tell someone who was also half-naked about my sexual orientation, especially after so long and looking so straight while I was pregnant.
So, I never said anything. And D kept asking me about birth control. Or she asked at least one more time, at which point I told her that I was probably too old to have more kids. And then she asked me my age and snorted when I told her.
The truth is that having kids for us was epic. It took two years and multiple rounds of fertility treatments which, now that I think about it, would have been an easy enough explanation for not having more kids. I don’t see D anymore, because I changed gyms when I got a new job, so please allow me to share my new answers to the birth control question with you. Am I going to have more kids? No….
1. We broke the test tube.
2. Our credit cards are maxed out.
3. We’re fresh out of eggs.
4. It was last call, and we were cut off.
5. There is no sperm in our relationship. Actually, there is but it’s in a freezer in Virginia.
What would you have said?
By: Sarah Ann Gilbert
Sarah writes with sarcasm about science, gender, feminism and fertility issues on her blog sevenlittlemexicans.com. When she’s not dreaming about being a “real writer,” she works with 50 psychologists at her “real job.” Sarah lives in Denver with her soon-to-be-wife, two girls and an ungrateful dog. She is working on memoir about becoming a parent. If she had more free time, she would spend it lobbying the state government to make down vests and flip-flops the official uniform of Colorado. You can talk to her on Twitter @7littlemexicans.