TTC Month Four
In the midst of packing up our
apartment, moving into the in-law's place, and beginning our housing search, my
period was late. Very late and very abnormal for me. With the exception of
a missed period, though, I didn’t feel pregnant. But, the days kept passing regardless. Alex constantly asked if I was feeling “different,” he patted my
belly and hounded me to take a pregnancy test. Still mourning from the month before, I couldn't bear the thought of taking a pregnancy test, so I waited.
Though I doubted
that my missed period meant I was pregnant, Alex’s excitement took hold of the part of me that so desperately wanted him to be right. I had gone a significant amount of time with no period in sight…which is why I
began furiously scouring the Internet, looking for cases of other women who were
symptomless and did not feel pregnant, but were.
Eleven (long) days later, I got my period in the middle of viewing houses. When I began to bleed, I began to consider the possibility that I might never get pregnant.
Rational or not, I could no longer keep my calm. Instead, I became obsessed with conceiving—reading hundreds of stories on message boards, studying every aspect of fertility and conception, monitoring every minute change that occurred in my body on a daily basis.
Eleven (long) days later, I got my period in the middle of viewing houses. When I began to bleed, I began to consider the possibility that I might never get pregnant.
Rational or not, I could no longer keep my calm. Instead, I became obsessed with conceiving—reading hundreds of stories on message boards, studying every aspect of fertility and conception, monitoring every minute change that occurred in my body on a daily basis.
I had reached my threshold for
being relaxed and letting things happen naturally. Four months may not seem
like a long time, objectively speaking, but when you are trying to conceive, time is not the same "time" you are used to. When you are trying to conceive you
go from believing you just need to have a bunch of sex all the time to knowing
an egg must be fertilized within 12-24 hours of it being released or it
will die…..along with your dreams of being a parent.
There is also a lot of waiting
involved, and that further distorts time. First, you wait for that holy time of
the month when you are fertile, then you wait two weeks (give or take) to
either bleed or take a pregnancy test (or maybe both if you are like me and you
don't even trust a period anymore, because what if it's implantation
bleeding or you're one of those random people who still get a period, or or
or?!). Then, if you fail to get pregnant that month, you start the waiting
game all over again.
And again.
And again.
I used positive visualization and
meditation to try to will it to happen. I painted paintings of pregnant bellies
and babies. I imagined the moment I would see two lines appear on a white
stick, probably several hundred times. I read books. I googled all things
conception-related, reading the same material over and over, and researching
new possible reasons for my lack of bun-in-oven status. I tried to make my body
less acidic and more inhabitable for sperm. I tried glutting myself on full-fat
dairy products because that can help protect against infertility. Alex and I had sex every
day. Every other day. Every 36 hours, on the dot. I made an emergency
appointment, sure that I had some sort of infection that was keeping
me from getting pregnant, only to have a midwife swab my cervix, put my cells
under a microscope in the same room and report that the only thing living inside me was a very
abundant population of sperm, which was equal parts relieving, embarrassing,
and semi-gross.
I wanted to step outside of the body
I had been living in all my life, because it was empty and not doing its job. I
would stare at women carrying their babies in slings in the grocery store, wondering why
they were able to do what I could not. The sight of swollen bellies was almost
too painful for me to bear. Yet I was constantly looking for signs of
pregnancy.
My skin is breaking out. I must be pregnant! I'm feeling crampy. It's got to be fertilization! I'm tired. It must be the teeny, tiny baby in me sucking all my energy away!
My skin is breaking out. I must be pregnant! I'm feeling crampy. It's got to be fertilization! I'm tired. It must be the teeny, tiny baby in me sucking all my energy away!
Then there were the pregnancy
tests. I went through so many boxes of them, I'm fairly certain I ended up making
money on them given all the rebates and coupons I collected over the
months. I never trusted the results, or maybe I didn't want to believe
the results, so I rarely took just one. Regardless of the frequency of my test
taking, though, the suspense existed each and every time. Those moments before
you pee on a stick are the safe zone. It's the window of time after you've
already done everything you could that month to conceive, but before the timer
goes off and you have to actually look at the test and know whether
you succeeded or failed. Every month, the anticipation became incrementally
more intense during that window, and the subsequent disappointment of one line
compounded by all the months of one line that had come before it.
There was the all-too-familiar
hug that Alex would be waiting with outside the bathroom door. I'd silently
bury my head in his shoulder, a few tears falling from my eyes, and he'd tell
me that everything was fine and that we'd have a baby soon.
I tried talking to friends who
had children to find perspective. There were the friends who tried for years,
rather than months, before they conceived, but their stories didn't erase the
impatience and fear. Consequently, there were the friends who got pregnant
after only two months yet they cried and feared and 100% lost it during the entirety of those
two months. Every couple had a different story, and a different emotional
reaction to the process. As much as I wanted to find some sort of solace in it all, I knew that none of it
could predict what would happen to me.
***
Our sex life began to change drastically once we moved into mom's place. There
was no more baby making on the kitchen floor, it was much trickier to have sex
at the specific time intervals suggested by my OBGYN, and there was the total
awkwardness of having sex in your mother/mother-in-law's house. Sure, it used
to be fun to occasionally do it in her guest room, but that was when we were
visiting, not living there.
Long gone were the days of
romantic, exciting, fun procreation. Now, the reality was mom walking by our
bedroom door, or coming home in the middle of the day when she had told us she'd
be out late. It looked a little something like…
“It’s time.”
Sigh.
“I read that I should be lying perfectly flat while we do it so just….no….that's not good….”
“Wait….move this….no….I mean….WHAT do you want me to do?!!”
“Shhhhhh!”
“Shhhhhh!”
Sigh.
Perhaps the joy would have been
slowly sucked out of the process at some point even if we had been doing it
under our own roof. I don't know. But, it was happening now. We were stressed
out, feeling a little creeped out about our sex life at mom's, and not
sleeping at night on account of the insanely bright city street lights, transparent blinds, and bus
line that ran all night outside our window. This is when the fighting began.
Not having a job or home was overwhelmingly stressful for Alex, but moving in with his mother was somehow a much greater challenge. He had always had a combative relationship with her, and found it difficult to remain calm in her presence.
Not having a job or home was overwhelmingly stressful for Alex, but moving in with his mother was somehow a much greater challenge. He had always had a combative relationship with her, and found it difficult to remain calm in her presence.
We were both on edge and
uncomfortable in our "home" and it became difficult for us to
connect. Connecting had always been the easiest thing in the world for
us to do, but we were suddenly living in a PDA-free zone, feeling awkward or
unable to express our love or talk privately. Our weekly dates and summer road
trips were a thing of the past now that we had to save money for a house. And other
than having sex, the only time we spent alone was when we took our morning walks
through the park, during which we mostly vented about our living situation.
To be continued...
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