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It’s that time of the month again! It’s guest writer time. I met Dominique Afacan, the writer of today’s newsletter, over Instagram when she said she loved The Single Supplement and upon seeing she was a writer, I immediately asked if she would be my guest. She’s a journalist, author and founder of a newsletter called Nesting, which celebrates lounging at home in all of its wonderful forms.
She writes today about her experience of being pregnant during the pandemic and it’s a really good read, which is actually really uplifting and I think even those without children will be inspired by her attitude to make the most of things. It’s also fitting because next week I’m writing about friendship and she talks about the importance of her support network.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much I did.
Have a good week,
Nicola
Twitter: @Nicola_Slawson | Instagram: @Nicola_Slawson
What it’s like to be a solo mum-to-be during the pandemic by Dominique Afacan
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I’m seven months pregnant, so you might be wondering what the hell I’m doing guesting on a newsletter about being single. But hold up, let me explain. I’m a solo mum-to-be, having a baby using donor sperm – and I am more single than I’ve ever been in my life.
Like most people in my position, I never thought I’d end up here; I assumed everyone eventually got their guy. But two years ago, well into my 38th year, I decided my time was up. Goodbye romantic fairytale, hello fertility clinics, egg collections and embryo transfers.
In April this year, just as the country shut down all around me and just before I turned 40, I did a pregnancy test and watched in disbelief as two blue lines slid into focus and changed my life forever. I felt like – and still feel like – the luckiest person in the world. But while I’d mentally prepared for solo motherhood (thank you, therapy), I hadn’t quite planned for the pandemic that would also result in a solo pregnancy.
I suppose pre-covid, I thought that once I was done with the injections and the clinics, my pregnancy would be pretty similar to anyone else’s, albeit swapping out the traditional supporting role of a partner and replacing it with a handpicked collection of my nearest and dearest. My birth partner would be my sister, who would also come along for scans and check-ups, further emotional support would come from dinners and coffee dates with my inner circle of friends, who had already earned their stripes supporting me this far. And of course I could rely on my Mum to indulge me in as much baby chat as I wanted along the way, with frequent breaks for shopping and coffees.
Lockdown changed all that. I announced my pregnancy via multiple Facetime calls, went for all my early scans alone and later, shopped for baby clothes in a face mask, armed with hand sanitiser, backing away from any kindly assistants who looked like they might come too close. There were no dinners where I had to subtly ask for a lemonade disguised as a G&T, no celebratory hugs when I heard my baby’s heartbeat for the first time and certainly no baby shower (for that, I remain grateful).
Instead, I was going on my government-prescribed one walk a day, staying up late to score supermarket delivery slots to bring me the vast quantities of cheese I was craving and tuning into daily Downing Street briefings wondering whether this would all be over by the time my baby arrived in December. Now, as I am about to start my NCT classes via Zoom, I know the answer.
Here’s the thing though. I wouldn’t change any of it. Because while it’s been shitty at times, it’s also been a bit of an eye-opener. Thanks to the street WhatsApp groups that formed as a result of lockdown, I found a new network of pregnant mums, living right on my doorstep, all due around the same time as me. Would I have ever discovered them were it not for lockdown? Maybe not.
I have also realised that walks in parks with friends are just as good, if not better than shouty conversations in noisy restaurants. I’ve experimented more with cooking than ever before (this baby has a thing for chocolate brownies) and had more time to potter around my house, an entirely comforting activity that as a former travel journalist, I never fully appreciated. In fact, I have found such peace with hanging out at home that I’ve even started a newsletter about it.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t anxious about December and the birth and the paranoia I will inevitably feel about exposing my newborn to covid. But the solo bit? Well, I’ve started to think that I never was solo in any of this, pandemic or no pandemic. Yes, I am single, but I am not alone. Far from it, in fact. The last few months have proved that more than ever. My support network have shown me that even when they can’t be right here, they are very much there, cheering us on from the sidelines. Locked down but listening up.
Dominique is a writer, sausage dog owner, and soon-to-be solo mum. She recently launched a newsletter called Nesting; a ‘warm hug in word form,’ all about hanging out at home. She is also the author of 'Bolder – Life lessons from people older and wiser than you,' – a book (and website) intended to smash stereotypes about growing older. Her travel and lifestyle writing has appeared everywhere from Grazia to Condé Nast Traveller. Follow her on Instagram.
What caught my attention
The weirdest year of my life made me fall in love with alone time
This is a lovely read by a favourite of The Supp, Rachel Thompson. It’s all about how she got comfortable spending time alone when she lived in France at aged 21. I really relate. It reminded me of when I lived in Spain but you don’t have to have lived abroad to enjoy it. She writes: “One day, I showed up at my friends' apartment after work. As we sat around the table chatting, one friend bobbed her head around the door and said "I just wanted to say hi to you before I head to my room because I need some alone time." Hearing a statement like that today wouldn't make me bat a single eyelid. But back then, hearing my older and very mature friend say this and sound so self-assured tugged a thread within me. Should I actually try this newfangled concept they call solitude, I thought to myself? All I can say now is: Bless my poor, inexperienced heart.”
9 things to say when someone asks why you're still single
All of my recommendations this week are from Mashable because they have launched a new series called Party For One all about single life in 2020, which I am obviously loving. This is a fun article about how to handle That Question. I love this section: “Whether the question is "Why are you single?" or "How are you single?"— if they throw a "still" in there, it's knives out, baby. "Still" suggests that there's a timeline on this thing, and we know that for most people, society has ensured that there is. "Still" contains undercurrents of "You should be married by now" and "What's taking so long?" and those are questions and comments we won't answer as politely as this one. If there's a "still," you have permission to raise your eyebrows into your hairline and exit stage left posthaste. If there's a "still," crack those knuckles and tell Aunty everything that's wrong with society insisting young people "settle down" before they're good and ready. "Still" is a fighting word, and a fight is exactly what it gets.”
The history of the single positivity movement goes back further than you think
Here’s another one by Rachel, which is really fascinating. She explores the history of women, in particular, going against the grain and enjoying single life. She writes: “Here's the thing, though: the single positivity movement is neither new, nor sudden or surprising. In fact, the history of the single positivity movement dates back to the late 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century. Let's not forget that Watson is not the first woman in history to have ever made a public statement declaring her singledom — for one, in 1558 Queen Elizabeth I batted away parliament's entreaties to marry, stating, "I have long since made choice of a husband, the kingdom of England." And I'll wager that she certainly won't be the last.”
The lowdown
Given what I wrote about last week, you can imagine how thrilled I was that The Stylist wrote an article about me asking people how they met their best friends. More on this next week!
The wonderful Shani Silver has started a publication on Medium for women in their 30s & 40s. “If the internet doesn’t think you’re cool anymore, we do,” the tagline for Atta Girl reads. I’m hoping to become a contributor to this so watch this space!
I’m going to do a Facebook Live on The Single Supplement Facebook group with the lovely Mel Johnson who runs The Stork and I next Sunday! If you have been inspired by Dominique’s story today and are considering going down the solo motherhood route, this is the chat for you but we’ll also be discussing embracing being single and the societal pressures women face.
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I’m running another masterclass with Tiffany Philippou on Tuesday! We’ll be exploring all the things you need to think about when you decide to start writing about your life. Book your ticket here.
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If you didn’t know, I have an agony aunt column for paying subscribers of this newsletter. You can take part even if you don’t want to sign up. Just fill out this form with your burning question or problem and pop your email address in as well. After I write the column, I’ll forward it to you. Your identity will be kept totally anonymous in the version subscribers can see.
About me
For those who don’t know, I’m Nicola Slawson, a freelance journalist who lives in Shropshire, UK. If you would like to support what I do, please consider subscribing to be a paid supporter of The Single Supplement. If you would prefer to make a one-off contribution, you can also buy me a coffee, here’s the link to my Ko-Fi page. Follow me on Instagram and Twitter.
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