Our road to infertility, part 1

I thought it would be a good idea to write a few posts about arriving at our infertile diagnosis.  It’s such a tumultuous process, filled with so much dread and hope and effort and waiting, I think it’s worth documenting.  So here it goes…

Thinking back now on those first few months of trying to conceive fills me with a sort of sad whimsy.  I remember how exciting those first few months were since we were drunk with power on doing the one thing we’ve always been told not to do: have sex without birth control.   We were both very pro-birth control while we were dating.  We used condoms pretty much exclusively since hormonal birth control and I don’t really get along.  I think most people who rely on condoms generally slip up here and there and sometimes opt to not use them.  Not us.  We were very by the book.  My husband’s sister has a daughter that we refer to as an “oops baby”.  She was born after her mother and father rekindled their dead romance for one steamy weekend.  9 months later their dysfunctional relationship produced a fabulous little girl.  Since she was a toddler when I came on the scene (she’s 9 now) we were both very aware of what “one night of passion” could produce.

It’s funny now, because the first night we skipped using the condom was our wedding night.  My husband almost backed out of sealing the deal because in the chaos of the wedding weekend, we had forgotten to pack them.  His words exactly were “I don’t think I want a wedding night baby”.  Mine back to him were: “It’s fine!  We’re married! Plus the chances of it happening are very slim…”  I have never uttered truer words.

The next time we talked about “when to start trying” was a few months later.  I remember we were on our way to the airport to fly to my best friend’s wedding.  I had thought we’d wait at least 6 months before even talking about it, but we had never really set an exact time.  We both knew we each wanted children soon, just not how soon.  My husband sort of nonchalantly dropped the bomb by saying “I’m ready whenever you’re ready”.  Be still my heart, I almost jumped him right there.  I was very close to ready but was also kind of terrified.  The next few months began our so called “sloppy birth control” time.  We would sometimes use a condom, sometimes not.  Even though we hadn’t officially declared ourselves “trying”, it was thrilling and fun.  I didn’t feel 100% ready (we needed more money to buy a house! we live in a tiny 1 bedroom apt!) but was so excited by the thought of it being so easy I didn’t need to try.  This is where we all sigh heavily, because, well, that was so cute of me.

Around the New Year (happy 2011!) we both were ready to go all in.  However, we had a destination wedding to attend in April.  It was two of my husband’s closest friends and we were traveling to a ritzy resort on a Brazilian island to attend.  I had never been, but had dreams of drinking cachaca and caipirinhas until the sun came up.  I didn’t not envision myself puking and looking bloated.  So we decided we’d wait until the trip, and then have lots of wonderful vacation sex and take care of that whole conception thing.  The trip was going be our last big hoorah before our lives shifted towards a quieter family life.  I bought my bottle of pre-natal vitamins and packed them with my bathing suits.

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