The Sex |
||||
|
|
As I mentioned before, our decision to grow our family was somewhat sudden, and therefore I hadn't done much research on baby-making. I did know that in order to conceive, we'd need to plant some sperm when I was ovulating. To determine when that would happen, I used an online ovulation calculator. Based on the length of my cycle and the start date of my last period, the calculator listed my five "fertile days" of each month. I took those five days and added seven days before and seven days after, plus a few extra days just in case, and decided that we needed to have sex every day of the month. And twice, if possible. My husband heard angels singing. For the first month, it was great. We were excited about making a baby and my conception plan matched his sex drive. We were in sync, physically and mentally. And I just knew it was going to work. In nine months, we would have a baby. We had been so careful to prevent pregnancy during the first year of our marriage, often using two forms of birth control, it just seemed to follow that when we stopped using protection all together we'd find ourselves pregnant. And of course, I had three friends who were all pregnant after one month, and two other friends who became pregnant WITHOUT EVEN TRYING. It was easy. But we didn't get pregnant that first month. I was devastated when I started my period. At the same time, I knew it was ridiculous to be so upset. It had only been one month. ONE. For women my age, I think it takes an average of six months to conceive. I just needed to be patient. And have more sex. Another month went by, and we still weren't pregnant. Our daily romp in the sack was starting to get old. Sex had become another task on the to-do list. Cook dinner? Check. Take out the garbage? Check. Have sex? Check. Fold the laundry? Check. When I wasn't pregnant after three months, I made an appointment with a new OB/GYN. I lost it, there in her office, sobbing about my fears of infertility and never being a mother and never picking up Cheerios from underneath the high chair. I was also beginning to experience irregular periods at that point, and I was worried that something was seriously wrong with me. After I had calmed down a bit, she explained some things about my cycle and how ovulation works, and asked how often we were having sex. When I told her, she said, "I bet your husband is loving this!" I laughed and decided not to tell her that I was actually wearing him out. Like, really. Like, there were nights when he said he was TOO TIRED TO HAVE SEX. I never thought I would hear those words out of his mouth. I would get upset because that might be THE night, and we might be missing out on our chance. And then he wanted to have sex even less because I was frustrated and anxious. So when my doctor explained that we should only have sex every other day, I was somewhat relieved. She explained that daily sex could, er, dilute things, and doing the deed only every other day would produce the optimum...deposit. I also learned that sperm can live for days, so as long as we had sex shortly before I ovulated, we could still get pregnant. What a relief. Following the doctor's orders, we cut back on sex. It was better, but not perfect. Every other day was still a "sex day" and gone was romance, spontaneity and fun. Even at that rate, it was still too much since sex felt like a chore. So I stopped referring to "sex days" and stopped initiating sex between taking out the garbage and folding the laundry. If he was in the mood, I was too. If not, we didn't have sex. We no longer have a sex schedule. We just do it when we want. The funny thing is, that usually ends up to be about every other day. Without the pressure to perform, my husband manages to find the energy and I'm less anxious, more relaxed. We're still not pregnant of course, but having a little more fun at this TTC thing. |
