I woke up this morning, like other mornings, and, still half-asleep, stuck a digital thermometer in my mouth, waited for it to beep, wrote down the temperature (albeit a bit shakily since I'm not too awake yet, then grope my way to the bathroom to pee on a litmus stick and put it into a $200 monitor that tells me whether or not I'm about to ovulate......fun, huh? So, as I'm sitting there letting my ass fall asleep on the toilet, the monitor pops up a little graphic of three bars with an egg in the middle-bingo! It's prime fertilizing time!
Yes, this has been the focus of my life-spending $200 on a plastic monitor to tell me when to have sex with my husband, rather than spending it on a nice dinner out, a pair or two of shoes, or a massage. I wistfully remember having sex spontaneously without worrying whether it will work, and maybe, just maybe, I can be that 25% chance that the doctors have told us, and actually get pregnant on my own. I long for the days when sex is not regulated to a calendar event, but an emotional connection between two people who love each other.....
My poor husband has really been a champ through all this-not really complaining when I give him the "sex schedule" for the next 5-7 days. He even tries to joke about the whole thing, which gets harder and harder to do as the months pass. I sometimes wonder if, since he's the healthy one in the reproductive relationship, he thinks about what it would be like to have a "normal" wife.
Then, after daily "baby-dancing" sessions (what the fertility charting websites call fucking, since it's not too cool to say that there), it's the dreaded 2 week wait (aka the 2WW), where you analyze every twinge, cramp, and symptom and wonder obsessively whether or not you're pregnant. Of course, what these places don't tell you is that, because of that lovely hormone progesterone that we produce after we ovulate, you always get pregnancy-like symptoms, since your body is preparing for the possibility.
So, even though the possibility of me getting pregnant this cycle is akin to getting hit by lightning, I will still worry and slightly obsess-did we do it enough times? Should I have that glass of wine with dinner? Why are my boobs hurting/not hurting so early/late? until I either get my period (AF-or "Aunt Flo"-cute huh?) or I'm late and have to take a home pregnancy test-another ploy to get poor women's money......*sigh*
Let the games begin.......
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