As teachers, my husband and I know that it would make our lives a zillion times easier if we had a baby in the summer. So, when my September cycle rolled around, I decided to make the absolute MOST of this chance to get pregnant. To this end, I started checking out fertility books from the library and...went for a pre-conception visit to an OBGYN that a friend had liked...and had a midwife come do a well-woman exam...and gave up booze (Lord save me!)...and called my naturopath...and ordered all the vitamins he recommended: prenatal food-based multi, Vitamin D, fish oil, Cal-Mag, probiotics, the whole shebang! WHEW. If you're not out of breath reading this, then you've clearly missed the obsessive nature of my quest for maximizing our fertility.
Let me elaborate: on top of all this, I read aloud long chapters of Taking Charge of Your Fertility and The Fastest Way to Get Pregnant Naturally to my husband, relegated his boxer briefs to the closet, bought him loose, sperm-friendly underwear, and forbade him from setting the laptop on "the family jewels," if you will. Then, when the time was right (a full 20 days into my cycle, due to the stress of the new job I suspect), we followed the advice the OBGYN gave me: "Be intimate with your husband at least every other day until your period" (or until he gets the flu four days after you ovulate, which is what happened in our case). I proceeded to try all the tricks from all the books: resting prostrate in bed for a while after sex (risking a UTI, I might add) to give The Boys a chance to go for the gold without fighting gravity, jogging a bit slower to keep my heart rate under 140, eating at least one full-fat dairy serving per day, and generally rubbing my belly and sending some words of encouragement to theo potential babies within. Thirty four days into my cycle, I had a feeling it was all paying off.
I'm sure, Dear Reader, that you can understand why I teared up when the first tinges of cramps grumbled onto the scene during a perfectly lovely birthday dinner for my father-in-law. I knew immediately: a baby was not to be...this month.
I didn't cry, but, shamefully, I did pout. I hate losing.
To be continued...