A Day in the Life of Trying to Concieve #2

5:55 A.M. Alarm goes off. I roll over, insert digital thermometer into my mouth, and wait for two minutes, until the tiny alarm on the thermometer alerts me that we’ve arrived at our final destination. Our final destination this morning: 96.5, a drop of 1.2 degrees. I commit this number to memory while going back to sleep.

6:05 Alarm goes off again.

6:15 Alarm goes off again.

6:25 Alarm goes off again. Cursing, I go to the bathroom, pee in a cup, and dip Joe’s Ovulation Predictor Kit El Cheapo Internet Test Strip. As it slowly turns pink, I get into the shower.

6:29 There is one obvious line (the control line) and one faint line (the test line.) This is the first time that I’ve seen anything resembling two lines on anything that I’ve peed on in nearly three years. While this may not actually indicate the required LH surge, I am understandably thrilled.

6:37 I shake Dan awake. “My ovulation predictor kit is almost positive,” I tell him. “Want to have a quickie before I go to work?” Dan opens one eye ¼ of the way, says “Okay…maybe later?” and falls back to sleep.

6:38 I eat Cheerios, get my cell phone and keys, and go to work.

8:17 I arrive at my office, log onto my computer, and open up Internet Explorer. I log onto the website that keeps track of things like my temperature, tests, and all of the hot procreative sex I’m having with my husband. The website refers to the hot procreative sex as “baby dancing.” I refer to dancing around uncomfortably outside a public restroom with only one stall while 8 ½ months pregnant as “baby dancing,” but whatever.

8:18 After entering all pertinent information about the location, texture, and relative openness of my girl parts, the internet gives me a tentative thumbs up to have more hot procreative sex.

11:23 I check the website again, to see if the internet has changed its mind. It’s still tentative, but a go.

2:49 Dan calls as he’s feeding Max lunch. “Did you offer me sex this morning? Did I turn you down?” Yes, and yes, cowboy. “Are we still on for later?” I briefly consider making him worry, but he knows me too well.

3:19 The internet has not yet changed its mind.

5:42 Email from Dan: a delicious dinner of hot dogs and leftover potato salad await me at home. There’s nothing like being romanced into giving up the hot procreative sex. I leave the office.

6:47 Hot dogs and potato salad. Kitchen cleanup. Laundry. Bath and bedtime for a two year old.

8:54 Don’t forget that Big Love is on tonight. The sight of Bill Paxton’s bare ass will not encourage romance, hot and procreative in nature or other, but we’ll power through.

10:13 Bwha-chicka bwha-bwha (imagine that this is porno music) chicka-chicka…

10-something (let’s not go into details, what do you say?) I find myself in a somewhat ridiculous pose involving the wall behind my bed and several pillows wedged under me, so as to gain maximum assist from gravity.

10-something-11:08 Swear several times about the relative discomfort of this position, think about the many years I spent involved with the comparably uncomplicated task of trying to NOT get pregnant, and consider the irony.

11:09 Drink of water. Set alarm for 5:55 again. Make sure digital thermometer is someplace within easy groping distance with one eye open at the obscene hour of 5:55 A.M. Wonder if all of this is for nothing, the first time was a fluke, and I'll never get pregnant again. Worry about whether all the wondering is what's keeping me from getting pregnant. Worry about worrying.