What to expect when you expect to be expecting

An unplanned pregnancy is the waking nightmare of sexually-active, single men, but it does have one advantage: there is zero insecurity about fertility. Everything already worked. You’re just suddenly thrust into the thick of tasks and decision-making — getting married, childproofing a house, budgeting for education or fleeing the state. Whatever the case, there is no trying involved. With an accidental pregnancy, you get to avoid what Marie and I are experiencing.

Marie and I have been trying for three months. (We don’t count October because we didn’t have a full month. She had just come off birth control, and her body was still adjusting.) So, three months, three failures. And we both feel it. Negative pregnancy tests are a major bummer. Wow, my life has changed. We try not to get our hopes up. We know what the odds are. But every negative test feels like losing, and neither of us like to lose. It may sound insane, but Marie and I never really considered that we might have difficulty getting her pregnant.

Books on child-rearing could fill a library. And in most bookstores, there are shelves upon shelves of books dedicated to pregnancy. What to Expect When You’re Expecting came out in 1984. New editions come out every other year. It even has an app. And both the book and the app have legions of competitors. There are also plenty of books dedicated to fertility, like What to Expect Before You’re Expecting. There’s also men’s versions of each (i.e. how to be a good husband to a pregnant wife or how to prepare for fatherhood). But based on a cursory, confirmation bias-seeking search, I found that there’s an utter lack of literature from a male perspective on the uncomfortable phase I’m presently going through: the truly weird experience of prolonged trying.

As a service to other dudes who are considering becoming a first-time father, here’s what to expect when you’re actively trying to make a baby.

Panic

I’m not talking about a full, enfeebling panic attack in which you can’t catch your breath and lose the ability to speak coherently. But when you first start having intentional, procreation sex, you can’t help but think about everything that is going to change.

• Your sleep

  • Ha! Never going to happen. And if it does, it’ll be entirely at the whims of an infant.

• Your relationship with your beautiful wife.

  • She’ll still like you, but she’ll like the baby more.

  • Also, no more sex.

    • because she doesn’t like what the baby did to her body.

    • Or she thinks you don’t like what the baby did to her body.

      • And you’re a monster for making her think that you think that, even if you don’t.

• Your ambitions

  • They’ll have to be inhibited or sacrificed due to your new role as a father.

  • Or if you go the other way, your commitment to work will make your wife resent you due to your absence. And your kid will hate you because you’re never there. Cue: Cat’s in the Cradle.

• Your free time.

  • Excuse me?

• Your golf game

  • See: your free time

• Your hobbies

  • Your hobbies will be removing soiled diapers, applying fresh diapers and going to the store to get more diapers.

• Your car

  • You mean, your mini-van?

None of this is rational, but that’s the nature of panic. It doesn’t have to be. Whatever priorities you have, a first child is a threat to them. A potential threat. You wouldn’t panic if the kid was in your arms. The fact that you’re trying to create a new being leaves your mind open to other potentialities.

The panic isn’t constant or all at once. It strikes like lightning — the thought of what you might lose. Then you realize that nothing is set in stone, that you and your wife are mature, responsible, intelligent human beings who care about the same things, that you can get through anything together, and you’ll figure it out. Your rational thoughts will win for the moment. Then the panic dissipates, leaving in its wake an empty sense of dread until the next panic strikes.

Weird Sex

No, I don’t mean ropes and straps and red rooms.

Without giving away too much information, there’s a Golden Window: five, auspicious days per month when sex is likely to lead to pregnancy. And even if your boys are successful in their mission, there is only a 5-20% chance of a fertilized egg attaching to the point where gestation can occur. And failure means you’ve got 25 days until the next opportunity. Therefore, during those five days, you, good sir, are on duty.

God save me from what I’m about to say, but, occasionally, I’m not in the mood.

Doesn’t matter. Remember late summer, pre-season, high school football practices? Remember three-a-days? Well, you’re a piece of meat again. Doesn’t matter that you’re over 40. Drink water, and get back in bed, wimp.

Insecurity

Let’s say you’ve done everything right. You’ve done your research. You’ve sacrificed beer and wine and whiskey and scotch and gin and other delicious alcohols and cigars — all of the things that made your previous life worth living. You’ve gotten your sperm tested. You’ve lost weight. You’re eating copious seeds and nuts and broccoli and other rabbit food. You’ve boosted your testosterone through weightlifting and supplements. You’ve purged your body of free radicals and purged your diet of carbs, phytoestrogens and trans fats. Your skin is clear. Your waist is trim. Your muscles bulge. And your swimmers are in tip-top shape.

So what happens next?

After you’ve been trying for awhile, you start to wonder what the doctors’ tests missed. Is there something fundamentally wrong? Did I unknowingly walk by a radioactive isotope? Do my sperm have a rare, undetectable deficiency? Are they cross-eyed? Do we have to do IVF? My father didn’t have to do IVF. My brother didn’t have to do IVF. Does it make me less of man if I have to do IVF? How do I avoid letting the public know that my sperm don’t work?

And what if the problem isn’t me? How’s it going to affect our marriage if we try and fail to have a kid? Will Marie blame herself? Will she blame me? Which is worse?

Terror of inadequacy

At some point before your wife gets pregnant, any intelligent, reasonable man with an ounce of humility is going to ask himself, “Who the fuck am I to raise a child?"

Seriously. I’ve eaten pizza that was three days old. Unrefrigerated. Five months ago, Marie criticized my diet after I’d had a pretty disciplined week. I responded by eating two sleeves of Double Stuf Oreos in one sitting.

And that’s just the cute stuff.

I think about all of the times I’ve been short-tempered, short-sighted, impatient, lazy, arrogant, unreasonable and needlessly aggressive in my life, and it’s a horror show. I’m going to be a role model?

Exhaustion

Add up lots of incremental panic, insecurity, weird sex and terror, and you find yourself physically, emotionally and spiritually spent.

Optimism

Optimism is what got you here, and it’s what’s going to get you through this weird stretch of your life, a stretch that you’ll only experience once, no matter how many children you have. Optimism will rescue you from insecurity, panic, weird sex, feelings of inadequacy and exhaustion. And if you’re running low on optimism, ask her for hers.

If you’re actively trying to have a kid, that means you’ve found the woman that you want to spend the rest of your life with. Untold millions of people will never experience that level of comfort, that sense of knowing where you belong. Whether children are part of your future or not, breathe deep, and try to appreciate your good fortune.