I thought getting pregnant would be so easy. Pull the goalie. Wait a month. Have sex. Bam. Baby.
I was so unprepared to find that it wouldn't be that simple, that I fully melted down the first month we weren't pregnant.
And that's damn early for a meltdown.
But the meltdown was just waiting in the wings. Probably anything could have set it off. There were so many crazy changes going on.
Mike lost his job.
My parents sold their home in Maryland and moved to Richmond (Sidenote: That sounds nice, I know. But, frankly, my mom kind of lost her shit when the reality of the change hit her, and then I realized having my family near my husband -- who doesn't have a whole lotta love for my parents -- actually equaled a giant tight-rope act for me. And my balance sucks).
Mike and I quit smoking. (Sidenote: It didn't work out.)
My family dog died.
The yearbook came in and I recieved more angry phonecalls about it then I have fielded ever before. (Sidenote: One crazy-ass mom actually said "If you have children, I hope this happens to THEM!" I left her daughter's info out from underneath her senior photo.)
Suffice it to say, it was a bad time to try to get pregnant. My body was hyper-stressed and I could barely keep it going, let alone give it time to create another living being.
And as it turned out, my body wasn't really ready to do that sort of thing anyway. It took months for the birth control to make its way out of my system. My cycle was so irregular, I couldn't begin to guess when I was ovulating.
Which meant I peed on a lot of stuff. Ovulation detectors. Pregnancy tests. Sometimes myself in the process.
It got to the point where my urine became a hot commodity. Because not all urine is created equal. For those tests to be any good, you gotta have first morning urine. You gotta have pee undiluted by a venti unsweetened iced coffee. Or three beers. Whatever.
But it didn't matter. I didn't get pregnant. I got defeated.
And I had trouble dealing with it. And that's why I need this blog.
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