This last year has pretty much been ruled by calendars, thermometers, peeing on sticks (which are surprisingly expensive, especially after a year!) and erm, well, a good amount of bed gymnastics. But things change.
The first six months of trying was filled with excitement, hope and general optimism. Checking the calendar, circling the days and informing your partner that he must absolutely positively not be away on business trips, not plan any nights out with the boys, and be a ready and willing participant in the timetabled baby-making bonanza. My husband, the sweet man that he is, dutifully complied with all of the above and with good humour, for the first six months anyway.
I'm not exactly sure at what point his patience may have started wearing thin. Perhaps it was the running in to the bedroom at 7am and exclaiming 'I'm ovulating! We have to do it today!', while my weary husband, who is definitely NOT a morning person, prises open one eye and tries to convey agreement. Or perhaps it was my practice of returning from work and immediately proceeding to undress, leaving shoes and clothes scattered down the hallway and then lying stretched out on the bed yelling 'Come on, it's time!' Not sexy, not arousing, not working.
After six months of unsuccessful efforts, the panic began. Something's wrong. What if I never get pregnant? I have to get pregnant, it has to be this year. If I get pregnant this month, then my baby will be born in July - which is perfect for work. It has to be this month. I want to have a baby before my next birthday, okay before Christmas, okay at least by the end of next year. Unfortunately I wasn't keeping all of these crazy targets to myself, my now long-suffering husband was taking the full brunt.
So the last six months were intense. Arguments. Lots of them. Crying-fits galore. But then something happened. We passed our one-year of trying mark. The point at which couples are usually defined as infertile. It had a strange effect on me. It calmed me. We were more kind to each other. We resolved to get answers, to find out if anything could be done but above all to stop stressing about it. I had to accept that this might not happen soon and I had to be okay with it. I started reading this great book:
Since then we have had loads of support. Our families have been wonderful. We're on a nutritional support programme. We've had acupuncture and reflexology. We've seen a fertility doctor (weird story for later), scheduled tests and are now awaiting the results.
As for me, I feel like I've turned a corner. No more calendars, no more peeing on sticks, no more 'I'm ovulating and we have to do it NOW!', no more pressure. I remain ever hopeful and resolve not to put my life on hold anymore.
Though I can't promise all of my desperately-wanting-a-baby behaviour will disappear.
