I admitted my contempt

from Trying

I admitted my contempt for the euphemism “trying” to Bridget. Attempting
to describe this contempt, Bridget wondered if it was because you were more
or less telling others that you were having a lot of planned intercourse.
Obviously “trying” entails planning when sex will happen in a precise way. I
know from an app that I am approximately ovulating this week. The percent
chance of pregnancy being highest during this time though I guess because of
my age even the highest percent seems sort of low. Though who knows how
accurate the app really is, but it feels powerful to even have this potentially
false knowledge. But what I realized through talking with Bridget is that
“trying” doesn’t turn me off because I am telling others indirectly about my
sex life. I actually hadn’t ever thought of it that way. It turns me off because
what you are telling others about is your desire to have a child, which to me
feels more embarrassing. The idea that I would casually tell acquaintances
that I desired to be a mom, to have a child, to love another being in a fierce
and intense way is too vulnerable to me. It is curious though, the suggestion
of implicit or subverted care-taking. Right now, I am sitting at my kitchen
table looking at the plants lined up along the window sill. Each morning the
tiny leaves on the shamrock plant open toward the light and every evening
close up softly. My penchant for personification effortlessly satisfied. But
I’ve always had plants and pets. I’ve always had something to care for aside
from myself. After visiting my sister recently and noticing the proliferation
of plants in her home I couldn’t help but think of a subverted desire to mother;
she never formerly being much of a green thumb. That the potting and
repotting is a tending that can stay that loneliness. But why is it vulnerable to
express desires or rather, why is that vulnerability shamed for me. Why not
feel proud to know what one desires. Desires are still opaque to me rendering
them private pleasures.