When I was pregnant, the last place I expected to find myself was on Tinder. But when I got dumped by my baby daddy five weeks in (despite the fact we’d been together for 12 months, it had actually never been that serious), I decided to dust off the heartbreak and embrace dating while I still had the stamina and—let’s be honest—a relatively flat stomach.

I didn’t create online dating accounts so that I could start serial swiping for a one-night stand, nor was I seeking a father figure for my impending arrival—I knew even in those early days that being blessed with a baby was all the love I needed for a while. Instead, I attribute my urge to enter the world of dating-while-pregnant to pure FOMO. From everything I’d read about raising a kid, I knew I’d barely have time to shower once the Bub arrived, so I couldn’t imagine when I’d next be able to paint my nails and smack on some lipstick for a casual hang with a stranger.

The idea that I wouldn’t be able to date in a few months made me want to do it even more. Honestly, I still wanted to be desired by the opposite sex and have that feeling of wondering what a date might lead to—a hookup, a holiday romance, a love affair—rather than letting my pregnancy turn me into someone who was OK with feeling overlooked. Plus, my posse of girlfriends was neatly divided between those who were shacked up with long-term partners and those who were still hitting the playing field hard. I wasn’t sure where I fit into the dynamic: I’d just been broken up with but I couldn’t exactly drown my sorrows in a bottle of tequila, and I didn’t want to test my newly weakened gag reflex (thanks, morning sickness!) by hanging out with a smug, married crew. What I wanted was to enjoy digital dating before my days were filled with changing nappies and taking naps.

When it came time to make my profile, I figured a complete stranger didn’t have the right to know every detail of my personal life. After all, I hadn’t even told the majority of my friends and family during the early stage of my pregnancy. Should I actually hit it off with someone well enough that they asked me out for a second date, I’d go, and if we hit the trifecta, I’d reveal the truth behind my hearty appetite and frequent trips to the restroom. Otherwise, it was probably none of their business.

So at eight weeks' pregnant, I started swiping. First, I hit it off with an actor who I met for iced coffee one sticky summer afternoon. Before we met, I prayed he wouldn’t be one of those dudes who asked leading questions, like if I had kids or wanted kids or liked them? That would’ve been too confronting, and possibly too tempting for me to blurt out my little secret, but he didn’t ask and we said goodbye. By the second date I went on—with a guy who used the F-bomb or worse in every sentence—it occurred to me that I was so passionate about punching some holes in my date card that I’d conveniently forgotten how hit-or-miss the whole damn process can be. Still, I wasn’t ready to delete my profiles just yet.

I met Contestant Number 3 for pizza at a hole-in-the-wall trattoria on the Upper East Side. The dress I wore was way too tight for my 10-weeks'-pregnant body, and I spent two hours self-consciously trying to cover my curves with an array of accessories—my handbag, a napkin, I even wedged myself behind a potted plant while he paid the bill. He made it clear he didn’t have time for anything serious, “in case you’re looking to get involved,” but texted a few days later to see if I wanted to meet up “for some ‘casual fun.’”