Tag Archives: Conception

Just relax…

28 May

There’s a girl at our church who is currently trying to get pregnant. She’s got a husband so there’s half the battle won, but other than that she’s not having much luck just yet.

Anyway, today this girl starts asking me about early pregnancy symptoms. And how long it took The Boy and I to get pregnant. And what worked. Because I wasn’t all that keen on explaining the mechanics of exactly how The Boy and I made Henry while standing in God’s house, I, in all seriousness, told her to just relax and that it’ll happen soon. The Boy then sticks his head into our conversation, I tell him what I’ve recommended, and his head very nearly explodes as he remembers just how relaxed I was when we were trying to conceive. Then he got this twitch in his eye as his brain waged war with his body to try to prevent the snort that it knew could very likely be his last. Lucky for him I do realise I wasn’t exactly the most easy-going person pre-pregnancy, and even luckier his brain won.

Of course now I can look back and see how ridiculously stressed I was about getting pregnant. I have a flock of friends who like to remind me  just how insane I got. And even if they didn’t, I sure remember it. I remember waking up at 6am EVERY DAY to take my temperature to watch for the slightest sign that I was ovulating. I was popping more pills than your average geriatric. I stopped eating pineapple, drinking tea, and taking hot baths. I was on the verge of crushing Manivit vitamins into The Boy’s morning coffee. I was a complete and utter bore to everyone who had to patiently listen to every little whine I had about how unfair it was that I was NEVER EVER going to get pregnant, and I’m pretty sure I turned sex into a chore faster than Usain Bolt ran the 100 metres in Beijing.

Thankfully – for both my husband and my friends – this crap only lasted a couple of months. And that couple of months flashed before my eyes when I told this girl to take a chill pill and wait it out. So much easier said than done but thankfully for the majority of people these things have a way of working out. Thankfully, for us, they did. Because I would not make a pleasant infertile. Those two months – one, really – felt like the longest in my life. And there are people out there who have been trying for YEARS to get pregnant. I don’t think I could do it. I truly don’t. I have trouble waiting for my toast to pop up – I’m one of those people who will compulsively watch it every second until it shoots out right in my face (somehow, despite this being a morning routine for over a decade now, the fact that the toast DOES pop out still surprises me). Why do I do this? Because one day that toast won’t pop out, and it will burn, and then catch fire, and then we’ll all die because we’ve been really slack with replacing the batteries in our smoke alarm. Just saying.

Anyway, I guess the moral of this story is that patience is a virtue (one I don’t happen to have, though I can definitely see its appeal). And that I’m a total hypocrite. And that these last few weeks of pregnancy are exactly like those first few when you’re all crazy with excitement and impatience and waiting for something to happen already. And when it does, boy am I going to be excited.

What was that?

5 Oct

That, my friends, was yet another vaguely un-suspicious non-symptom.

Seconds ago, while sitting at my desk, minding my own business and writing a perfectly bland story for a perfectly bland annual report, I had a wave of dizziness. A wave that I can only hope to explain as a symptom. Of that thing that I sort of tried to not think about, let alone talk about this week, that (probably) totally hasn’t even happened yet.

Next month, I’m buying ovulation predictor kits. Because not knowing EXACTLY when I drop an egg is doing my head in. Because it means that the event could have happened days ago, and I wasn’t even aware of it, making counting days to implantation very difficult and nerve-wracking for my OCD self. Or it could not have happened at all, which makes me pouncing on The Boy entirely redundant. Except for, you know, makin’ ze goooood times.

Anyway, around ovulation, as you may have guessed, I tend to go just the slightest bit crazy. Only this month I’m smart enough to remember that every symptom I experience actually has nothing to do with being pregnant. It’s to do with the fact that I’m no longer taking my happy hormones. Which means not only do I experience things like dizziness, extreme moodiness and uncontrollable tears (yes, I’m a joy to live with!), I also get things like pimples, cramps and sore boobs. Uncannily, they’re just like the symptoms you apparently get when you’re pregnant! Of course they are. Because there’s nothing that gets your hopes up more during the two-week wait than actually feeling all those crap symptoms that everyone tells you you’ll feel when you actually DO get pregnant.

If the antithesis of this is true, then I’m going to feel like a million dollars when I’m tadpoled up. It’s going to be great. Except for the fact that I’ll probably be turned into some teary mutant that’s fat, covered with pimples and craving dirt.* Pretty close to what I am now, minus the dirt.

To take my mind off things – you see how well it’s working – this week I’ve treated myself to those Babybel cheeses that were a primary school lunch box staple. Man I’ve missed those waxy balls of processed dairy. Seriously, I’d keep eating them, only thankfully I had the foresight to leave the rest of them at home. Plus, my office has glass windows and it would be quite disgusting, I’m sure, for Cheryl across the hall to watch me gorge myself on rubbery balls of cheese.

And, since The Boy and I are casually shopping around for new digs closer to civilization, I’ve booked us a hotel in the city so we can do some exploring (and scuba) this weekend. It’s almost the end of night shifts so it’s time to celebrate getting my husband back with some city lights, a pot of mussels and someone else to make the bed.

*Apparently, my mum craved dirt for a while there when she was pregnant with me. Something to do with an iron deficiency.