A Guest Post by K.C.Ott
When a woman decides she’s ready to have a baby it engulfs her entire being; by body, heart and soul. She becomes crazed and infatuated with the idea of the “perfect family”. Planning and fine tuning every detail of pregnancy and life after baby. Most women start out thinking “all we gotta do is have sex during ovulation”, with the unrealistic impression conception will happen miraculously within the first month of trying. The journey of baby making begins with this first month of ignorance.
The first month is all fun, not really paying attention to time or details. Your husband is oblivious to the time of the month and has a mindset of he’s just getting lucky, often. The thought of a baby and conception is buried in the back of your mind during intercourse and you’re enjoying every minute…right to the big O! Days after expecting Aunt Flow to show up you get filled with excitement thinking you’re pregnant, only to discover the bitch is late again, with the white sticking displaying a negative sign for confirmation. Everyone else makes it look easy, so you figure it was just a glitch.
The true life story of baby making and conception starts. It’s a hell of a lot harder than most believe. The simplicity of dropping your panties and climbing into bed with your husband for a passionate baby making session suddenly disappears.
The following month a game plan is instituted. A color coded calendar appears on the fridge; red days for the damn bitch who ruined your plan last month, purple for when you are suppose to ovulate, and bright flaming orange to indicate the nights your husband is suppose to be readily available to suit up (or should we say not suit up). The calendar quickly becomes scribbles of “X” marks while counting down the days to the orange. The orange days arrive and its game time. After sex you dare not move, folding yourself up with your feet above your head. Surely this is going to help those swimmers move in the right direction to where they are suppose to go, and you dare not let one drop go wasted onto the bed or into the toilet. As you squander time with your feet up playing on your cell phone or reading. Your husband leaves the bed, and yet you don’t care about the after snuggles. He dropped his load and frankly, that’s all you wanted from him. It wasn’t about him, it wasn’t about the snuggles, it was about the baby….the baby.
Every tummy cramp, nipple pain, spot of “is that blood” (implantation bleeding) in your panties takes your mind directly to believing your body is working on making that baby you have long hoped for. The wait and anticipation of making it to the day you can test is excruciating. That white stick is certainly going to have a positive signed after all of the month’s well thought out antics. You think positive and go out of your way for others, because surely your body is going to take karma into consideration before it exfoliates your insides for the montly regime. This month you can’t even wait until Aunt Flow arrives, you figure “the bitch better have packed her vacation bags for the next 9 months”, pissing on the stick four days early because it says you can. The three minute wait feels like an eternity and to not jinx it you walk away trying not to look. “If I don’t look it will be positive….my Grandma always said a watched pot never boils.” A negative. You try reasoning with yourself that its only negative because its too early, it could be a false negative, telling yourself “I may still be pregnant.” The next morning you wake up to find a massacre has occurred in your panties while you slept, fucking whore didn’t pack her bags after all and Aunt Flow has arrived in full force. Damn it!! Maybe next month….
The third month becomes even more strategically planned than the previous two. You take it upon yourself to note every single change in your body. Checking your basal body temperature before even lifting your head up off your pillow in the morning, sticking your fingers in the goo of vaginal discharge to note the texture, and even monitoring what your husband is eating, drinking and doing with every breath. Lord knows that he could be the one fucking this up. And he thought PMS was bad! He falls asleep on a night that you are suppose to have sex, and hell will freeze over before you left him get away with it. You stop at nothing, waking his ass up and even threatening rape if he dares not perform. He curses you all while calling you a crazy psycho bitch but indeed does his job and rolls over back to sleep. You throw those feet up over your head one more time, load happily received and drift off into dreams of babies.
Yet again the day comes and your wish doesn’t come true. Aunt Flow wins again. So this is real life? “Why didn’t I get pregnant?” you wonder, “we did everything right, right?” You quickly resort to feelings of hopelessness, disgust, anger, rage and hurt. The stress takes a toll on your marriage as you blame yourself, then him, then yourself again for not succeeding. The damn bitch from high school just posted on Facebook: “Whoops…it was an accident but Ed and I are expecting a baby!!” You curse and swear, throwing objects at the wall….how the fuck did she “accidentally” get pregnant. Struggling with you own emotions you can’t help but wish awful things upon her at the time of your enragement and frustration. Making matters worse the neighbor is due any day and you’ve already contemplated kidnapping the child so she can feel your pain.
And so it goes, as life swirls upon you, everyone else getting knocked up while you wallow in sorrow and desparation. You feel like you’re the only one. It seems when you want something most everyone else can achieve it but yourself. The small amount of hope in one day smelling the sweet newborn scent and cuddling God’s most precious gift keeps you trucking along month after month. You grab the calendar and your crayons heading to the desk to prepare for the next month….
Stay Tuned for “Conception Battles: The Untold Story Part 2” Coming Soon
To leave a comment about this article, please stop by our fb page at www.facebook.com/parkingpal
If you have a story to share on our blog, please email email@example.com.