Genesis

The most important thing about a hypocritical volte face is to really own it. You can’t just mention quietly that you might have changed your mind. You need to show those old ideas who’s boss, push them down, kick sand in their stupid outmoded faces.

So yeah, I’ve started timing my ovulation.

For the past three months, we’ve been freestylin. Possibly fucking slightly more than usual because we’re excited by the idea of getting pregnant, but fucking as and when – definitely not every day of the month.

The only thing I’ve kept note of is the first day of each period, and the only test I’ve done has been waiting for that. This heralds a little frisson of excitement followed by disappointment for a few days each month, but for the rest of the time I’ve been oblivious to what my body might be getting up to.

But J spoke to various friends who’ve got pregnant on purpose, and they all said they’d monitored ovulation. So I started looking into it – I generally have a rough idea of when I ovulate (cos it hurts like a bitch) and figured I had a week’s opportunity around then, but no! There’s a margin of about 48 hours – no sex on those days means no baby that month.

Fortunately, the modern menstrual girl-about-town no longer has to trouble herself with mucus. You can get home tests like pregnancy ones, but instead of detecting a hormone released when you conceive, they look for a hormone that increases before you ovulate.

So we did this last month, and it was cool to know exactly which days we might’ve conceived, but goddamn, it throws open the door to crazy!

It was the previous uncertainty that allowed me to stay distant from the process; to carry on as normal and not get too invested in whether or not each fuck led to pregnancy. But narrowing it down to two days when it all has to happen makes it feel more real but easier to mess up; a certainty yet precious or precarious.

And, as a nice sting in the crazy tail, you can’t know for about two weeks after whether you were successful or not, cos it takes that long for the preggers hormones to reach detectable blood levels.

So, rather than the vague “maybe it happened this month”, I found myself thinking “shit, it could have happened yesterday”, and that caught my attention. So I stopped drinking and smoking – once I accepted that yesterday was a zero or a one, I had to assume one, just in case. Knowing it might have happened while continuing to party (plus knowing embryos are most vulnerable during their first weeks) seemed kinda irresponsible.

So there’s me, pretending to my mind I’m pregnant to get my body to behave, while trying to stay realistic. I found myself looking at baby clothes, assumed my period would be late, and fixed a date for testing that was far enough in the future to avoid a false negative.

And then my period came, and the baby I kept telling myself not to get attached to was gone. Just like that. Bye kiddo. I miss you, even though you never existed.

I wish I could go back to my previous ignorance, but now I’ve considered the improved chances monitoring ovulation could bring, I’m too greedy to let that advantage go – even if it means amplifying the emotions that go with it.

Witness the corruption caused by knowledge. It’s like fucking crack. I humbly and formally apologise to all the screeching, wailing, insane, pregnancy forum harpies who mourn each period as the death of a child. I mocked you for being lost to your cause, and now, to paraphrase Mr Aurelius, I hope only to avoid finding myself firmly amongst your ranks.

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3 Comments»

  Grill wrote @

So two days of sex, two weeks of saint-like abstinence and purity, then a frantic ten-day bender… and repeat.

  elle wrote @

Pretty much!

  Thinking of England « Cheese sammiches and sex wrote @

[…] a few baby-making posts since Christmas, but they all seemed too dull to share. In brief, I stopped ovulation-timing because it didn’t work out well. By which I mean it sent me bat-shit crazy – I think it […]


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