Here's What Happened When I Tried Dating While Pregnant

This is what happened when I tried to date while pregnant

 Alyssa Shelasky wasn't sure what she was looking for in a boy, until his belly (and then baby's) redefined her way of thinking about commitment.

  I replied, my entire body trembling.

  "Alyssa?" the voice crackled. "I have news. Your results are ready. You are pregnant!"

 It had worked. I was so happy that I couldn't even find the words to express my gratitude. I finished my yogi interview with as much Zen as possible, which wasn't much, then I ran into the street screaming.

  With shaking hands, I called out to my parents and my sister, who wept with joy. My mother reminded me, as always, that there is a halo above me. Simultaneously I rolled my eyes and smiled.

  We share happy goodbyes. Already starving, I went to enjoy a triumphant falafel. That's when I got a text message from Brit Marcus *. "See you later?" I had completely forgotten.

  I was pregnant. And I had a hot date that night. Could you do both?

  I decided the answer was yes. Because: my life, my rules. Also, even though I had gotten pregnant on my own terms, I didn't want to close the door on love. One of the many reasons I initially felt this was the right decision for me was that I wanted to relax a bit when it came to the pursuit of romance. She wanted to go on a date for the fun of it, not because she was a 37-year-old woman looking for a husband or dad before time ran out.

  In fact, I already had so many warm feelings around my pregnancy that I longed for a handsome man to take me out to dinner and share stories and secrets. Maybe she would meet a single dad or a modern romantic like me. And if not, it doesn't hurt, right?

  But what to tell them? This was a no-brainer. I never hesitated to tell the truth about my story to anyone. After all, I am proud to have done this. I was dying to have a baby before it was too late, and although I approached a couple of ex-girlfriends, I still wasn't sure what to look for in a man. I could live being single, but everything about my lack of children felt bad. So I did it my way, and I call it guts. If anyone wanted to call him weird, well, they weren't welcome on this trip with me.

I didn't add "pregnant" to my profile, because taking it out of context raises a lot of questions (even I can admit it), and I didn't want a guy to create the wrong narrative for me. I decided that after a couple of minutes of teasing, I would tell them I was pregnant. It seemed like a fair plan for everyone.

  This is where I learned something crucial about life: rejection is best served with ice cream.

  The first thing every man wanted to know was my relationship with the baby's father. When I explained that I used a sperm donor, they were comforted but confused. "So ... are you divorced?" Phew! I found myself endlessly explaining my choices to guys I didn't even want to date anymore.

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One of them was extra put off. He called me sneaky for not disclosing my pregnancy right away. And to be fair, I’d waited until about 20 minutes in, because our banter seemed so fluid and fun. Still, what he described as his “sense of betrayal” struck me as extreme. I felt disappointed—I thought we’d clicked—but mostly protective of myself and the little one inside. By now, I knew I was having a girl, and no daughter of mine would ever see me chase a jerk.

Other guys acted flirty and intrigued but then would go MIA. 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.

What I realized was that even though many single women are getting pregnant via sperm donors these days, it’s still considered an alternative lifestyle in the speedy, swipe-right, already ­disillusioned world of online dating. Not to mention, Sexy Pregnant Me was much better in person.

So it was serendipitous that I met Aaron, a humanities professor, at a dinner party during my second trimester. Aaron seemed to delight in every detail of my story. He came across as sophisticated and neurotic—very New Yorky. He was also captivated by my cravings. It turned out that the only thing Aaron loved more than Shakespeare was Shake Shack, and the only thing I loved more than flirting was french fries. We were a sexless match made in high-cholesterol heaven, until I got a little grossed out by his gluttony (only one of us was entitled to such a rapidly growing belly.)

I also reconnected with an old friend, Ryan, who now had kids (and an ex) of his own. I wore a high-waisted sundress, and my big bump was outshone only by my new double-D chest. We bonded over our views on the public school system (yes, please!) and natural childbirth (no, thank you!)—and after dinner, Ryan kissed me long and hard. It felt great, but I was entering my third trimester and needed to take it easy. I told him I’d call him when the baby was out.

After that, I was huge, sweaty and slammed with work. 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.

Then, on October 3, one month before her due date, I met my greatest love of all time, Hazel Delilah Shelasky. She was prettier than I ever imagined and more elegant than a newborn has any right to be. (She crossed her legs and wore a cashmere beret at 2 days old. The nurses called her Nicole Kidman.)

Motherhood, it turned out, came pretty naturally to me. I was sleep­-deprived but propped up by a continual swell of happy hormones. And when it came to help, I counted myself extremely lucky: my family pitched in and worked overtime, easing the transition in ways that a hundred husbands couldn’t, from daily home-cooked meals to on-demand babysitting.

Actually, my new life was kind of a blast. Hazel and I memorized Goodnight Moon and binged-watched House of Cards. We took long, contemplative walks and got lattes every morning. I even learned to use her as a kettlebell when working out at home (she giggled the whole time.)

Of course, there was plenty of hard stuff, too. 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. Sleep training her—what seemed like hours of “crying it out”—felt positively traumatic to endure alone. And then there was the nonstop schlep of it all. Strollers plus subways plus stairwells are no day at the beach, especially when you’re solo.

But then there were the truly euphoric moments, the ones I didn’t anticipate at all, where I loved her so much that it was almost terrifying. I’d look at Hazel—especially in her innocent deep sleep—and it just felt like the sweetest prayer. Motherhood is spiritual. It’s otherworldly. It makes me believe in halos (you win, Mom!). And one day, I would really like to have someone to share those shivers with. Because this experience is just too powerful to go it alone.

I’m still single, but I do like someone. He’s supersweet about my daughter, though I’ve definitely met guys who can’t handle the kid thing. And that’s OK. Being a mom has filled my life with so much love that I think finding someone magical might actually be easier now. Because, maybe, love begets love. I sure hope so. At least I finally have more of a sense of what I’m looking for. Someone kind, someone generous and someone who knows that the most beautiful thing about me will always be her.