So, Series of Tubes, I’m sure you’re oh-so-curious, but yes: I am ovulating in the next few days.
(Cue the band, light the fireworks, the crowd goes wild, etc., etc.)
On Thursday, I got my first high reading on my fertility monitor. Per usual—as I said, my body is ridiculously predictable. Other signs have quickly followed (I will not regale or gross you out with the details), so ovulation is somewhat imminent.
And as I said before, I have absolutely no motivation to engage in procreative sex this month.
Sure, I’ll probably get it on with the husband this weekend. I’ll do it because 1) he’s hot and 2) I like sex. Very much. And it’s because he is hot and it’s because I like sex that the idea of having sex for the specific purpose of getting knocked up is so very unappealing right now. Terribly unappealing.
I’ve not shared with my husband my high fertility days this month. I don’t plan to. If he asks, okay, I’ll say it’s this weekend, probably into next Tuesday. But I will not say, “Ooh, I got a peak reading, let’s get it on.” I know, I know, that totally gets his motor running, but I like to save my sexiest lines for special occasions.
I would say I might change my mind about this—and this could still very well happen—but something tells me I’m not likely to. When I got that first high reading, I paused for a second, considered the logistics, then quickly turned to the task of making my goddamn pumpkin spice coffee. In months prior, I was immediately anxious with the all-consuming thought that goes like this:
“Must have sex. Must have sex. Must have sex. Must have sex now, now, now, now, now.”
My thought process on Thursday morning was:
“Must have pumpkin spice coffee. Must have pumpkin spice coffee. Must have pumpkin spice coffee. Must have pumpkin spice coffee now, now, now, now, now.”
I have to say, it was kind of refreshing.
So even if I do change my mind and lament my timing, I have this post to remind me about how utterly lazy I was feeling about having his sperm meet my egg this month.
Part of me wonders if I’m taking this very laissez-faire attitude in an effort to make the magic finally happen—like, OMG, I didn’t even think I could get pregnant this cycle! Lookit, a BFP!” But if I dig down deep and ask myself that critical question—TTC Writer, are you doing this to fool yourself?—I think I can answer no. Why?
I’m just tired. I’m just so very tired of the worry, of the hopes, of corralling my husband into the bedroom for some not-so-fun sex, of beating myself up for not having done this or that or that or this during any particular cycle.
I kind of just want to give myself a cycle off, you know? Take a breather. Sure, we’ll more than likely have some pretty good sex this weekend, but I won’t be hoping for Baby Writer to be born next July. Hell, as far as I can tell, my mind’s turning toward the Cherry Blossom Ten Mile Run lottery. At the moment, I don’t even care if I’m pregnant or not next April—all I can think is, “Can’t wait to run that damn race.” Whereas before I was all, “Hmm, not sure if I’m doing Cherry Blossom next year …”
(It’s probably because I registered for the Army Ten-Miler and will probably not run it thanks to not training for it at all. Damn me.)
I think, for this month at least, I’m taking the “Let me plan whatever the hell I want, if I’m pregnant when it finally happens, that’s how it shakes out” attitude.
We’ll see if I have the same attitude next month.
Ugh, next month. My lovely in-laws will be in town during that particular fertility week. And they are a whole other ball of wax that you’ll probably hear about on this blog. They are … not cool. Even my husband doesn’t like them.
And on that cheerful note …