How To Be Pregnant And Single

Being pregnant and single is not an uncommon occurrence. In fact, a growing number of women are choosing solo motherhood as an alternative to having children in more complicated relationships that may not work out. If you find yourself pregnant and alone, here are eight tips to help make the process easier:

If you find yourself pregnant and alone, here are eight tips to help make the process easier.

  1. Build your support system. …
  2. Connect with other single parents. …
  3. Consider a birthing partner. …
  4. Develop a plan for pregnancy and parenthood. …
  5. Reach out to local nonprofits. …
  6. Lay your cards out on the table. …
  7. Know the law.

All women deserve to enjoy their pregnancy, no matter how they’ve gotten pregnant. If you find yourself pregnant and alone, here are eight tips that can help make the process easier. Build your support system. Connect with other single parents like you. Consider a birthing partner and develop a plan for parenting before your baby is born. Reach out to local nonprofits for resources that can provide free baby items, and know the law around payment issues and custody arrangements.

If you find yourself pregnant and alone, here are eight tips to help make the process easier:1. Build your support system. Connect with other single parents through groups like Single Parents by Choice, on social media sites such as Facebook, or in person at free parenting classes offered by local hospitals, clinics or nonprofit organizations. And if there’s another single parent at school who is due around the same time you are, ask her out for a coffee date

Going Through Pregnancy Without Father

Ihadn’t meant to have a baby at all. I hadn’t meant not to have a baby either, by which I mean I always thought I’d have children one day. I just thought those children would grow up with me and their yet-to-materialise father in a lovely farmhouse, hugged by the hills, with an Aga and a dog and long, invigorating walks through the fields. This was not how I had grown up in Yorkshire, but it wasn’t a million miles from it either. It was an idealised version of home, and it lived somewhere vaguely in my future as an unspecified certainty.

Exactly how I thought La Vida Farmhouse was going to appear when I was, in fact, living in a one-bedroom rented apartment in West Hollywood in 2010 isn’t clear. My apartment was just behind the Sunset Strip part of Sunset Boulevard. The Strip is the glamorously cheesy bit, full of rooftop pools and famous people, and it was a place that encouraged in me a relationship with reality that could at best be described as negligible. I was working as a journalist, interviewing Hollywood celebrities for newspapers and magazines back home.

This was unreal life, where a friend offered me a free place on a health retreat on a ranch in Mexico, and I’d go to power yoga lessons where they told me and the wealthy Californians who surrounded me to feel the pain, and I felt the pain so much that I could barely manage the trip back to LA. By the time we got home I was unable to sit down. A day after that I was in the emergency room at Cedars-Sinai hospital in Beverly Hills, which was the place where Paris Hilton and co would end up after paparazzi-induced car crashes and the Kardashians would give birth. It was, improbably, my local hospital.

It wasn’t clear to anyone quite where this agony was coming from, or if it had anything to do with the exercise at all. I spent a whole day being wheeled around to different tests, and having a cash machine wheeled right up to my face by a credit-cardiologist. Finally they told me that there was good news and bad news. The good news was that the MRI scan had revealed the main problem: I had something like a slipped disc. I would not need surgery and it would resolve itself naturally within a week or two if I was sensible and simply became addicted to industrial-strength painkillers instead. Something like that.

The bad news, however, was that while they were poking around, they had discovered some trouble in my ovaries. Oh, I know about that, I said, I was diagnosed as having polycystic ovary syndrome in my 20s, I’ve been told it’s probably fine. Well, it isn’t fine now, they said, it’s much worse, and coupled with your hormone levels and your age and – hang on a minute, I thought, your age? I was only just into my 30s – all right, I was 34 – but nobody had ever said your age to me in that tone of voice, suggesting that I had used a lot of my age up already, rather than not had enough of it yet. Regardless, the doctor continued, I had the best kind of infertility, because I could still carry a child in my own womb. It was just that I would not be able to conceive naturally.

In my life, it was as if I was the captain of a magnificent ship but was somehow always in a dinghy buffeted about in the ship’s wake, about to catch up with myself. Up ahead on the magnificent ship, I was organised and sober and slim and shiny-haired. This infertility news was the first thing to finally break through to me that the ship had sailed off without me. I went home, shut the door of my apartment and cried for a week.

What an idiot I had been, thinking that I could go back and make a family later, that I could work out how to have a relationship with a nice man later. I didn’t know any nice men. What I knew were exciting men, egotistical men, men who ran fast, whom you could sometimes run alongside, as long as you didn’t let out a single whisper of genuine need.

I told my friend Mal about this most awful diagnosis that had made me reconsider my whole life. And when my monologue ended, he smiled and said, “Sophie, all the doctors have said to you is that you can only get pregnant on purpose, not by accident. That’s it. Which is, as you would say, brilliant. So I think you should celebrate this amazing news by going out and fucking like it’s the 1970s.”

And that is the story of how I didn’t use a condom the next time I had sex, which would turn out to be the very next day, which turned into the story of how I became somebody’s mother for the rest of our lives, the end. Except it’s not the end, is it? It never is.

Iremember feeling particularly hot that next night, as I left my apartment with Mal’s fantastically bad advice still ringing in my ears. I remember trying to walk confidently straight past the hotel reception desk, then stopping round the next corner to secretly check the text message again. Then I was beside the swimming pool, deserted but still floodlit. I remember hearing a noise and looking up and seeing him, a man I’ll call the Musician, grinning down at me.

Laughing, I took a big gulp of whisky and said we didn’t need to use anything as I definitely couldn’t get pregnant

The loneliness of the long-distance runner has nothing on that of the single person in an antenatal class

He was thousands of miles away and not expecting to hear from me. In fact, I talked so fast when he answered that he couldn’t hear what I said, which meant I had to take a deep breath and deliver my big news all over again. These phone conversations continued, over the weeks, turning into a big old argument: disbelief, terror and sometimes tenderness, too. And every time I would put my hands to my belly, where barely anything existed beyond a particle theory of cells. I knew the miraculous accident was here to stay.

Later that week I spent hours in my local bookshop, nervously scanning the shelves for a guide to show me the way. All I could find were books called things like What To Expect When You’re Expecting, full of advice on folic acid and how your husband should give you a back rub to ease the tension of growing another person inside your person.

What I longed for was a book called What To Expect When You Weren’t Even Fucking Expecting To Be Expecting, which would tell you what to do when you found yourself standing on Santa Monica pier holding your phone in your trembling hand, desperate to hurl it into the Pacific Ocean so the thoughts of a scared man couldn’t buzz through it any more. We had to stay in regular communication, and sometimes it could be sweet, even, on a very good day, to the point of us discussing potential baby names we liked. We weren’t going to become a couple, but there were moments when we could be friends. But mostly it was a battle.

Sophie Heawood in London, 2011

I tried to find a bigger apartment in LA, one more suited to babies and less to parties. Nobody would rent one to me, not once they’d taken a look at my rapidly growing bump and my rapidly shrinking income. With my tail between my legs, I moved back to London and began attending antenatal classes, where the husbands and boyfriends were taught all the helpful things they could do. I experienced the class solely as a guide to heteronormative marriage practices, with me the only single person there, feeling like the extra prick at a wedding.

So imagine my delight when, about halfway through the course, one of the dads took offence at being told he should probably give up smoking, and he left. The numbers balanced out fine after that.

I find it odd when people say that giving birth was the single best day of their life. I can safely say that giving birth was the single worst day of my life. All right, the single worst two days of my life. I was 18 days overdue when I finally let them induce me, and it was 48 hours after that when they cut the baby out of my womb. My daughter is the best thing in my existence, but I can quite clearly separate loving my daughter from not enjoying 10 different doctors waggling their poky things up my chuff.

There’s another bit of labour I find hard to write about. The bit where the Musician, who had been going to come, and then not going to come, then did come, somewhere around midnight, when I’d gone deep into an animal state. Or so I thought. The bit where he’d sat at the far end of the bed, too far away, and he finally stood up and I thought he was coming towards me so I reached out my arms to touch him. I needed that contact. But I had misread the movement and he was in fact standing up to leave the room. A cheery goodbye came from him as I lay there, contracting, the midwives and doctors looking at me as my arms tried to find a place to fold themselves back into. I was no longer an animal. I was shame.

But then I was made into two. In the operating theatre, a baby was passed over the white curtain to me and she was my daughter, she was a broken star, a bloodied astronaut, a bloodied moon. She was a missile coming straight for me; an answer to the question that my body asked without me knowing. She was the smallest person I had ever held and the biggest thing I had ever seen. An alien who clearly knew everything about everything. I cried involuntarily. It came from me like a bark.

The baby’s face was lopsided, one eye more closed than the other, a big red mark across her forehead, and I didn’t know how to ask if that was how she was always going to look, if I would reveal a lack of love by already wanting her to be different at 28 seconds old. Some time later, we were wheeled along the corridor to meet her father, and as we arrived I felt an acute sense of embarrassment. I felt an even more acute sense that this was not how it is supposed to feel when you present a man with his baby.

Three months later, and a live human male person was actually chatting me up at a party. For the first time in a year, I did not have a baby inside my womb, or hanging from my breast, or snoring beside me in a pram.

Of course, most new mothers go out to have some respite from the four walls that surround them, and the feeling of being needed at every second of every day, and while those were my goals, too, I also had another motive. I had come out on the pull.

Pregnancy is not an ideal time to meet someone, but I’d got through that, and was now in the afterwards stage where you’re merely leaking milk from your breasts. So that was fine. In fact, it was more than fine – because said milk was making them enormous.

A single parent is both structure and playground, walls and soft landing, good cop and bad cop

The man trying to talk to me was a real grownup in a suit jacket. When he introduced himself, I immediately felt the whooshing rush to my heart that could only mean one thing: total inadequacy.

“What do you do?” he asked.

I told him I was a journalist: “But… I’m not really working at the moment.” Oh God, quick, Sophie, salvage it.

“Because I’ve just had a baby!” I added, hurriedly.

Looking into his confused eyes, I realised my mistake.

“But I’ve already split up with the dad!” I barked, solving everything.

My brain helpfully nipped back in for one killer finale.

“In fact, I actually had the baby on my own.”

I didn’t get to find out what he thought, because, oh my God, he turned around to talk to someone else. I went and sat at a table with some people I vaguely knew, and was still laughing to myself, wheezing with relief that I would never again have to experience The First Time A Man Chats Me Up After Having A Baby On My Own. ur names at the desk and waited to be called. There wasn’t much small talk between the two of us adults. The baby slept. We went into the private room. The doctor seemed highly intelligent, talking us through the clinical procedure before explaining that she was legally obliged to ask us why we were having it. I decided to sit this one out. And so we waited, the doctor and I, both turning to look at the Musician. I think I may, for a nanosecond, have even enjoyed the look on his face.

“We just, we just want to be sure,” he stuttered. It was an innovative usage of the first person plural, seeing as I was perfectly sure already. “Just, you know, just for the avoidance of doubt,” he added, nodding as if everyone was already agreeing with him. The doctor and I both knew that nobody in that room was agreeing with him.

Even though the doctor said the baby was his, I knew it wasn’t true. That baby wasn’t his at all. She was mine

“The baby doesn’t have to be woken for the procedure,” she explained, “as we can swab her mouth for the saliva sample while she’s asleep in her pram. You won’t even need to take the covers off.” My relief was marred only by my disappointment that nobody would now get to see what I had dressed my four-month-old in – a grey babygrow that had one word lovingly stitched across it: Daddy.

The doctor swabbed each of our mouths with a separate sterile bud, which then went into sealed plastic bags. When it was all done, the credit card handed over and the receipt signed with my blood – I mean his pen – he and I stood outside on the street and looked all around us. It was preferable to looking at each other.

And then the Musician and I tried to talk, but only revolting angry words came out. I began to walk away, pushing the pram down the street. The shouting carried on at my back. I pushed the baby to the end of the street, and then round the corner to the end of another street, and then suddenly I was free.

The clinic phoned a week later. The baby was his, they told me: even though the technology didn’t yet exist to prove it 100%, they could give us a 99% likelihood. It was the same doctor on the phone, and I could hear her hesitation, where professional boundaries seemed to be preventing her from asking if I was all right. I wasn’t, as it happened. But what did it matter, because even though she said the baby was his, I now knew it wasn’t true. That baby wasn’t his at all. She was mine.

Still, the child maintenance payments continued to arrive. Sometimes they felt like a mockery. Sometimes they felt like an apology. Sometimes they just felt like a great big help and it was a relief. The months passed into years, and the anger turned into pain, and the pain turned into a ghost that sat on my shoulder for many years and flicked my nerves while allowing me to live. But life takes its snaking turns around unexpected corners, and we are on better terms now and beyond. Family life has changed again. I was always grateful for my best ever present, one given to me in a curious pocket of magic that we had somehow slipped into in the California moonlight, and if I think about what my life would have been without her – my diminutive partner in crime, and in beauty, and in fart jokes – I almost can’t breathe again. She has his sense of humour. It’s a very good one. Breakfast table every morning, staring across at each other like Frost and Nixon. And every day she says, “Mummy, look at my sad face.” And I say, “That’s not very sad, look at my sad face” and I do a mournful expression the same as hers, only I let my jaw hang down and let one of my eyes tilt to the side, as if I am dying, and she giggles and says, “No, Mummy, look at my sad face” and she copies all of mine but adds an enormous sigh to it, a sigh that knocks her head practically off her neck, and so I say, “Look at my sad face” and I do everything she did but I also fall off my chair on purpose and collapse on to the kitchen floor at some personal discomfort and start to cry out, rending my garments, “I am so sad, oh Lord why hast thou forsaken me” and then my daughter is almost hysterical with rancid delight and joins me on the floor, crying out, “Oh Lord, why have shaking” because that’s what she thinks I’ve said, and then we remember that it’s 8.42am on a school day and I have to get her hair into two French plaits that I learned by watching a YouTube instructional video 11 times.

We grab our coats and run along the street and get there before they close the gates at 9am. We always make it just in the nick of time, and we hug each other goodbye, and she goes up the stairs to her classroom, but stops at the big landing window and waves down at me again. We both bump a fist on to our hearts to show that we will carry each other in there all day.

Some might think a romance between a parent and child is not healthy. What would they think if it came from a father who wanted his little girl to know that she was beautiful? I have had to provide both things, the romance and the rules. A single parent is both structure and playground, walls and soft landing, good cop and bad cop. You don’t ready someone to travel into a famine zone by starving them, so I have prepared my child for an ugly world by fattening her with love, like a foie gras goose. And when we are sad, we sit there being sad, crying, accepting, until we can laugh again.

As a child, I learned that sadness makes people uncomfortable, and it still makes me uncomfortable, if I’m honest. But what I know now is that it doesn’t always want to be fixed – rather it wants to be heard. In our house, I have made room for it, so it can come and go like familiar visitors do. It makes the happiness less frantic. I tried a lot of cures for existential angst, but becoming this person’s mother was definitely the one. She gives me somewhere to put all that love I’d been wasting on my fears. I want to be the safe place my daughter turns to at night, and wakes up to in the morning. The safe harbour. Unconditional. Not everybody gets one of those.

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Single Pregnant And Lonely

Being single while pregnant comes with various challenges. You may have decided to be a single parent or find yourself in this circumstance by chance. At times, you may have to manage pregnancy, delivery, and motherhood without the support of a spouse. You can feel strong, empowered, and ready to take on the world as a single parent at other times. It’s natural to feel conflicted during pregnancy, and you’ll have good and terrible days. Keep reading for some golden tips on navigating a single mother pregnancy.

Survival Tips for the Pregnant Single Mom

Survival Tips for the Pregnant Single Mom

Being pregnant is an overwhelming time, but being pregnant as a single person can be more challenging since you have to deal with worries and major decisions independently. Here are some tips to help you get through the ordeal as a single pregnant woman:

1. Get support from friends and family 

The only thing that single mothers lack is a partner’s support. Others who love and care for you can provide emotional support. You’ll need a support network to help you through pregnancy and parenthood if you don’t have a spouse. Friends, family, and strangers online might make up this support network. After a long day, you’ll need somebody to lean on for comfort and sympathy, as well as individuals with whom you can share your aspirations and dreams.

Your network should be your dream team, with professionals on hand to provide emotional and physical assistance as needed.

2. Make friends with other single moms 

When you can chat with other women going through the same thing as you, it makes pregnancy a lot easier. Everyone wants to feel welcomed and know that others are sympathetic to their plight. If you don’t have any single moms-to-be in your family or circle of acquaintances, broaden your search. 

3. Socialize as much as you can, whether in person or online 

The best approach to meet other single mothers-to-be is to get out there and socialize with them. Becoming a single mom while pregnant is not easy, so make sure you have a few single mother friends who can relate to your everyday problems and share the highs and lows of single parenting with you. There are various online support groups for single moms-to-be, and you’ll find plenty of women to chat to in our community groups who understand what you’re going through.

4. Identify your strengths and give yourself credit where due 

Do not underestimate your strength, resilience, and abilities, however. Don’t forget to give yourself credit, and you’ll be able to handle the next nine months – and beyond – just fine.

5. Get financial help 

Getting a single mom pregnant can lead to the mother falling into financial troubles that may not leave her with enough to care for her baby. So, during your pregnancy, work as hard as possible to get your finances in order. You’ve probably observed that planning is a big part of parenting, so plan diligently and buy life insurance as part of that plan. Make a budget and do your best to reduce your debt. 

6. Start financial planning well in advance to prevent anxiety and stress 

Living within your means might help you relax and focus on your new role as a mother. Attempt to set aside enough money for the future to cover your pregnancy expenses, such as health insurance copays, out-of-pocket payments, and supplies, as well as any expenses you expect to spend while on maternity leave. 

7. Connect with other parents with older kids to get baby products second-hand 

Remember that you’ll be able to borrow a variety of products from other parents whose children have outgrown their onesies, strollers, and high chairs, as well as other necessities you’ll get as gifts before your baby arrives.

8. Take help from others 

Single parents usually feel overloaded, overtired, and overworked due to fulfilling two tasks. This is when your posse comes into play. Form a network with other single parents, your family and friends, and others even before your kid arrives. 

9. Reach out to your community 

Every family is built on the principle of community, regardless of the number of parents. You’ve got a group of people on your hands. Don’t discount the desire of others around you to help you through this new era of your life. You wouldn’t believe how grateful they are to be a part of it. 

10. Focus on making yourself happy 

As a mom-to-be, focus on being the best you can be. You should cover the basics, tap into your community – your inner circle and beyond – and take good care of yourself. Try to avoid getting so caught up in details that you forget that you are in the middle of this amazing experience of becoming a mother.

11. Attend prenatal appointments as a single pregnant mom 

You may consider you need to find someone special to function as your wingman or woman, but who says it has to be a one-person job? Instead, form a group of individuals who can fill in for you as a partner at certain times throughout your pregnancy. Consider your parents, siblings, a close friend, or a family member. To prenatal visits and delivery sessions, you can bring any one of a rotating group of close friends.

12. Don’t shy away from getting mental support from your loved ones 

It’s also not only for appointments. Lean on your circle for shoulders to lean on, hands to grip, and ears to bend when you’re nervous or need some emotional support. Choose one or more willing partners from that group to assist you throughout labor. It doesn’t need to be someone particular!

13. Prioritize your health over your work

If you suffer weariness, vomiting, aches, or other probable pregnancy symptoms, you may find it difficult to keep up with your work. Because you’re taking more sick days, arriving late after a restless night, or fighting to keep your head out of the toilet all day, your job may be suffering. Request your boss to adopt a flexible approach.

14. Work out arrangements with your boss to accommodate your needs 

Explain your difficulties and give recommendations for how your company may help you keep your typical workload. Could you, for example, cut your commute by working from home on certain days? Could you work flexible hours, allowing you to come in late or depart early as needed? Don’t be afraid to ask for flexibility from your employer; most would happily make changes to help employees in need.

How To Be Single Pregnant And Happy

If you find yourself pregnant and alone, here are eight tips to help make the process easier.

  1. Build your support system. …
  2. Connect with other single parents. …
  3. Consider a birthing partner. …
  4. Develop a plan for pregnancy and parenthood. …
  5. Reach out to local nonprofits. …
  6. Lay your cards out on the table. …
  7. Know the law.

You’re pregnant, but you’re single. You want to do the best thing for your baby, but you also have a life to live. Here are eight strategies that can help make life after conception easier.

Pregnancy is a time of mixed emotions and big decisions. Being pregnant and single can be even more challenging, with many more questions to answer. If you find yourself pregnant, don’t be afraid to reach out for help!

While you can definitely be happy and single, the process of pregnancy, childbirth, and becoming a parent can be just as rewarding for those who are single mothers. It’s possible that you may feel that others aren’t able to understand an unexpected pregnancy. There are many challenges that may include financial challenges, a lack of support, sleepless nights and more. However this doesn’t mean that life cannot be joyful as a single parent.

What To Do When Your Pregnant And Alone

Pregnancy can be an exciting and challenging time. And if you find yourself pregnant and alone, here are eight tips to help make the process easier — from building your support system to reaching out to local nonprofits.

If you find yourself pregnant and alone, remember that you’re not alone. The first half of pregnancy (and the first year of parenting) is about building a support system, connecting with other single parents, reaching out to local nonprofits and laying your cards out on the table. Know that there are always options available; don’t let shame or fear keep you from reaching out for help.

As a parent, you want to do everything in your power to ensure your child has a happy, healthy life. But if you’re pregnant and alone, it can be hard to know where to start. Here are eight tips to help make the process easier.

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