Should I have ended my last post "to be continued...in two years"?

Whatever the reasons for my disappearance, I find myself inspired to returned to the blog. Perhaps it was my husband's insistence that I "should write a book" about the things that I feel compelled to blather on about every night. Is he thinly masking a request to take my complaining elsewhere so that he can watch "CSI" in peace? Quite likely, but I will choose to see the good in his statement and bring my musings to the masses.

Today was actually a rather humbling day on a personal front. I realized that I have become (in no uncertain clinical terms) a dime a dozen wannabe pregnant crazy lady.

My husband and I have been trying to get pregnant for about six months. We had settled on our starting time early last year, making allowances for massive wine consumption at my brother's wedding and several months of FREAKING OUT about the possibility of creating a child. Having been raised with a fear of God and Pregnancy, I was certain that once the birth control pills, condoms, and IUDs were out of the picture, I was a few romps away from being with child.

So, I dutifully printed out calendars that identified my peak fertility days, posted them on the fridge to the delight (or was that utter amusement?) of my husband, frisked about when I felt most fertile (with an extra thrill every now and again) and waited for the inevitable union of egg and sperm. I scoured message boards of newly pregnant women, eagerly reading up on the early signs of pregnancy that I knew were just around the corner. I'd convince myself that mild stomach twinges were evidence of the egg implanting in my womb, that I felt irritable at work because of hormones just beginning to pulse through my body, and that any yawn before 9pm was a clear indication of pregancy fatigue.

Enter the home pregancy tests. The damn box says you can test up to 4 days before your missed period. That was my downfall. Of course in my mind, the fertilized egg can travel at light speed, so my body could probably know it was pregnant even earlier, right? Argh. I peed on the sticks, prayed for a positive, closed my eyes tight and then peeked at the results to see a big fat nothing. Sadness. But then the hope that maybe I tested too soon. So I test again. Same result. And then my period would come.

Repeat the above for the next few months, every time vowing that I will not take a pregnancy test until I have a late period. Every month folding when I feel a hunger pang that I'm certain is some sort of hormone-driven food craving. And I pee on the sticks and they tell me "NOT PREGNANT" or "-" or simply nothing. And I cry, because I'm frustrated that I can't make this happen and I'm so used to being able to set my mind to something and do it. And I fret that I may never be able to get pregnant. And I feel bad about my self pity. And I feel guilty that I want to get pregnant and not immediately adopt a child who already exists and needs a good home. And I resolve to be more accepting of life and whatever it will bring...until the next month.

So month 6 arrives, I insist that hubby and I extend our frisking timeline and I AM CERTAIN that we have been successful in our efforts. Inevitabley, I take a home pregancy test a few days before my period is due, and alas it is negative. No fear, I will wait a few days and then test again. (We've begun referring to this as "taking a $6 pee" around our house). A few days later...negative. But then, sweet miracle, my period does not arrive. Nor does it the next day or the next. So I do the only logical thing and call the doctor for an appointment. Wanting to head to the appointment with some awareness of the life rooting itself in my womb, I take another test. It is negative. I have convinced myself that the blood test that the doctor administers will reveal the truth. Instead I arrive at the office and I am given another pee test. And it is negative. The panic starts to set in that not only may I not be pregnant, but I have now become a contributer to the rising cost of healthcare and the increasing cynicism of doctors who begrudge their patients' insistence on Googling every odd sensation they notice in their bodies. The doctor enters and I am treated to a lovely conversation with Dr. X and Jose, the 3rd year medical student, who I'm sure was delighted to hear that I attributed my sore nipples to being newly pregnant. By the end of the visit it has been established that it is mostly certain that I am not pregnant, that I do not need to freak out about getting pregnant until we have tried and failed for at least a year, and that a $15 pee is more more humbling than a $6 pee. The last point was more personal reflection than medical opinion, but it's probably the point that stays with me the most. I thought of Dr. X talking to Jose after the appointment, picturing him saying "A lot of women in their 30's who are trying to get pregnant can react that way. They don't realize that it usually takes a couple of months, they assume that anything unusual they notice in their bodies is due to pregnancy, they request that we rule out ectopic pregnancies." Oh yeah, did I mention that I told the doctor that my period might be late because I had an ectopic pregnancy? Yup. That was me. I was that woman.

At this point, my fridge is free of ovulation calendars. I have to trust that having sex routinely will eventually lead to pregnancy if my body is meant to be pregnant. If it's not...then it's not. I cushion the potential blow of not being able to get pregnant with thoughts of never needing to give up coffee or my skinny jeans. I preach a lot of "staying in the moment", "accepting life on life's terms" philosophy to other people. We shall see if I can do this for myself.