We need a break. After several discussions we’ve decided it’s time for a respite from fertility for a bit. We’re both feeling a growing sense of desperation and anxiety about getting pregnant – or, perhaps more accurately, not getting pregnant – and we’re also starting to get concerned about the financial load of all of this baby-making, so we’re going to take a month off and give ourselves a little break.
And so we’re back to au naturale for a month. With the little froggy-mama on the night-stand, we dig deep down to our instinctual nature and try to remember how it was done back in the good old days before speculums and syringes. I hope I can compete.
Without the benefit of the numerous standard ultrasounds and injected drugs, of course, we’re back to guessing when it’s ovulation time. Me being a guy and all, I’ve never had to pay much attention to all of this and I’m struck by how much a crapshoot it all really is. The odds really do seemed stacked against human beings ever procreating at all.
First you have to find someone who might be willing to have sex with you. Then you have to make sure you don’t say or do anything stupid for long enough that the sex actually happens. Then you have to keep making sure you don’t say or do anything stupid for long enough that the sex keeps happening. Then, add to all that, you have to time these not saying or doing stupid things such that the sex happens during those oh-so-particular ovulatory windows. Then your swimmers have to actually make it to the finish line. And if all that isn’t enough, there has to be a “good egg” waiting for them when they get there.
Geez. It’s no wonder men are horny all the time. If we weren’t, pregnancy wouldn’t stand a chance.
Up Next… When It Rains