Passion, Pregnancy and the Promise of the Rapture

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Passion, Pregnancy and the Promise of the Rapture

to be recovered from any heartbreak, ripe and ready for those promised multiple orgasms, the madness that would make me do the unfathomable.

Week twelve came and left the nausea. Week thirteen passed with my head still in the toilet. Week fourteen brought vaginal bleeding and bed rest. The diagnosis of a low-lying placenta made my lack of sex official. My doctor prescribed no vaginal activity, no orgasms, until the placenta moves up. Needless to say, it became a blessing that there was no sign of my libido. I don't know what I would do if I were in fact experiencing the promised state of heightened desire and had to abstain. As things stood, I didn't have to worry about any of that. Sure, my breasts grew sore and swelled. My hair grew lustrous and tumbled wildly round my face. My hips widened seductively and my skin cleared up nicely. I was the picture of fecundity. But inside me was pretty much without an ounce of desire. Whenever I thought about sex my stomach churned and I gagged. I couldn't imagine being that close to anyone, let alone kissing them on the mouth, or anywhere else—ugh! If the season of sexual frolicking was promised, it was definitely not yet fulfilled in my softly changing body. Even as I approached week twenty, the slightest scent of another being was enough to send me retching.

At week twenty-five I finally accepted that this sexy perk of passion in pregnancy was not to be mine. I mourned the loss of yet another fantasy I had about the process of procreation. Those weeks felt as if they would go on forever. I admit they were the darkest of the pregnancy so far. Everything seemed unbearable. I felt singled out, picked on—like God, or the Devil, or Fate, or all three, were out to get me. I doubted myself, and wondered if this experience was retribution for being openly gay, or being so foul-mouthed, or being so outspoken about the sex I so enjoyed with beautiful women. In those weeks, I was nothing like the warrior dyke I so prided myself on being when I began this journey toward motherhood. And I was too weak to feel any shame in that. All I could do was to get through each day with enough food staying in my stomach to keep baby and I alive.

As I approach week thirty,