Tag Archives: trying to get pregnant

50 Shades of Grey’s Anatomy

I have to go to the lady parts doctor today. I know, I know. Ew. Gross. How dare I casually mention that I have a vagina! And on the Internet to boot, where children might see it! While on their way to whatever website 9-year-old’s are hanging out these days, which I’ll never find out because I am ancient!

But just be glad you only have to read about it. I’m the one who actually has to go and sit pants-less on hygienic demon paper for 37 minutes while Dr. Bony Fingers soaks her hands in dry ice before beginning the examination.

As I’m sure you can tell, I am not looking forward to this particular visit, fun though it is to have medieval-looking devices fiddling around down there. In fact, you could say I’m downright nervous.

Now normally, being nervous before a doctor’s appointment, any doctor’s appointment, is just par for the course for me. It’s one of my oh-so-amusing quirks that would make me a great sidekick in a really bad sitcom. Take going to the eye doctor. I dread going to the eye doctor. I always feel like I’m failing all their tests, because unlike all other doctor tests, the eye doctor INSISTS you participate.

“Can you read the first five lines of the chart, please?”

“Yeah…uh…E F P T O Z L P E D P um…another P…that’s a lot of P’s, man, um…C T …O?…or maybe U?…Z D um, I have no idea so let’s go with P again cause I’m assuming P’s are like the C’s of standardized tests in the eye world, huh?…no?…um…Q? another Q? um…P…I failed, didn’t I?”

And if that weren’t bad enough, then they shove that giant machine in your face and demand you make a series of high stakes, rapid-fire decisions that will quite literally affect how you see the world for the next year.

“Is this one clearer or that one?”

“Um…the first one?”

“OK. That one or that one?”

“I…I don’t know. The second one? Or, no! Wait! The first one! I think. STOP PRESSURING ME!”


I am also not a big fan of going to the dentist.

“Have you been flossing?”


“Every day?”


“Cause it doesn’t look like it.”

“Hey man, you don’t know my life!”


But the lady parts doctor is its own unique kind of clinical hell. Let’s just put it this way, the biggest lie that has ever been told in the history of the world is “you may feel a little pinch.”


But this time, the nervousness is slightly warranted. The reason I’m having Dr. Lady McParts kick the tires and check under the ‘ol hood is because my husband and I want to start trying to get pregnant again. One, because my husband wants another child and two, and much more importantly, I want a 9-month free pass to yell at everyone and eat cheeseburgers for breakfast.

But I’ve been having some symptoms. Of what, you ask? I have no idea. Nothing major, I’m optimistically assuming. Just a few things that made me raise one eyebrow and go “huh.” But I can tell you that according to Google, I am dying (because Google never looks at your symptoms and says “Holy crap, you are almost TOO healthy!”). However, I thought a second opinion was warranted before I drew up a will leaving all my vast estate holdings to my son.

“It says here that when Riker comes of age, he shall inherit all his mother’s back-issues of BUST magazine and her vintage ‘Drink More Wine’ t-shirt.”

I know it’s pointless to worry. But it’s also pointless to watch ‘Hart of Dixie’ on Netflix and I can’t stop doing that either. (Oh, Lemon Breeland, when will you learn?).

Because it’s not just my health at stake here, scary though that is. It affects the future of my entire family. Whenever something is amiss in that particular geographical region of your body and you are of a certain age, your first thought is “Oh god, what if I can’t have more children?” And generally, once that thought enters your head, you realize with horror just how much you truly wanted another baby. And how much your partner wants another baby. And how much your first-born needs a sibling so he doesn’t have to deal with those future nursing home “your mom bit a nurse again” phone calls alone.

And yes, we can adopt. And yes, we can be perfectly happy with just one child (some people don’t even get that). And yes, we can bring home a bunch of shelter dogs who can pitter-patter their little feet with the best of ‘em.

All things my husband and I have been saying as a mantra the past month.

And yet…

And yet.

Wish me luck.

Playing Russian Roulette with Nature

So, awhile back, my husband and I made a horrible mistake. We decided to casually try for a baby.

Now, you may be thinking “how do you casually try for a baby?” Well, it’s very simple. Casual baby-making means you stop actively trying to prevent pregnancy but aren’t necessarily aiming to get pregnant. But if you do get pregnant, you’d, like, totally be cool with it. Also, you have to both wear fedoras during your “maritals” to up the casualness factor.

Sure, it may not be the most effective method to conception but it’s perfect for a couple like us who want to start a family but are also utterly terrified of the prospect at the same time. So instead we play Russian Roulette with nature and let Fate decide.

(Plus, we really like to wear fedoras.)

Now, kind of, sort of, maybe-ish deciding to try to have a baby wasn’t the horrible mistake we made (although I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who would disagree, including anyone who has ever met our dog, who is in desperate need of canine therapy). No, the mistake lay in telling people about it.

As it turns out, when you start contemplating entering this new and monumental phase of your life, everyone has an opinion about it. Forget that whole “it takes a village to raise a child” idea. The village is much more interested in helping you conceive.

For example, here are some of the responses we got from family and friends (or what I like to call “What to Expect When You Think Maybe Sorta Kinda You Want to be Expecting”):

“Ooh! How exciting! When was the date of your last period? I’m going to chart when you’re most likely ovulating.” –my cousin

“Oh…wow…why?” –our childless friends

“Have you started taking folic acid? You have to take folic acid. Like, now. I’m going to send you some folic acid.” –our pregnant friends

“Are you pregnant yet?” –our co-workers

“Oh, you’ll LOVE being parents! It’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do, you’ll never sleep again and will constantly be covered in poop and puke. But it’s WORTH it. Trust me.” –about half of all parents we know

“Do as many things as you possible can before you have a baby. Because once it’s here, you’ll never be able to do anything ever again.” –the other half of all parents we know

“Are you pregnant yet?” –our former co-workers

“Make sure you don’t have sex EVERY day. Do it every OTHER day. Otherwise you deplete his sperm.” –my cousin again

“Better hurry. You’re not getting any younger.” –my aunt

“MAKE ME A GRANDMA! I mean, you know, on your own time. No rush. Also, check out this cute onesie I bought eight years ago when you guys first met.” –my mom

“Are you pregnant yet?” –my mailman

“OK, according to my calculations, your best bet is the third of the month through the seventh, so…get busy.” –again, you guessed it, my cousin

Now, I’ll admit, at first this outpouring of responses surprised me. I considered this a very personal decision between myself and my husband. We were the ones who this decision affected, not everybody else. So why was everyone so eager to get all up inside my uterus, verbally kicking the tires and checking under the hood of all my lady business?

But then I slowly came to realize that when and if we ever do get pregnant, while it will completely upend our lives, the ripples will also reach out and touch everyone else. Parents will be turned into grandparents. Siblings become aunts and uncles. Nieces and nephews become cousins. Aunts and uncles become great aunts and great uncles. Cousins become godparents. My mailman will probably have to deal with a lot more care packages. And close friends become honorary family members.

So, as it turns out, it’s nice to know that there is an entire village waiting with bated breath to see what happens. It has the effect of making one feel very loved, if a bit uncomfortable with the sheer number of people in your life who are comfortable casually discussing your uterus.