Greetings kiddies, have you missed me today? Well, I sure have a hum-dinger of a treat for you, a NEW GHOST HOST GUEST POST!
Jojo is the witty, smart and beautiful mother of a baby boy who’s 18 months. She’s also in the midst of trying to catch a second round of the “babyfriends.” But, I’ll let her tell you about it!
Doin’ it for the Kids
Of all the not-fun things in the world, trying to make a baby is right up there near the top of the list. Trying to conceive (TTC) may as well mean: I’m now having the worst sex of my life. I hate baby-making.
Let me be clear: sex is fun, in general, but sex with the intent to conceive is not. Planning ahead to do the deed pretty much sucks all the fun out to begin with, and add to that the little nagging thought in the back of your head reminding you that you’re trying to get as much sperm into your body as possible… well, that’s just gross.
Another not so fun thing about baby-making? Acting like you’re pregnant so that in case you actually are pregnant, you’re not out, say… smoking crack or drinking caffeine. Or alcohol. And should you go ahead and dye the roots now, or what? And what about that bridesmaid dress… should you order another size up incase you do have a belly in six months?
Do you tell people you’re trying? If you’re me, you can’t help telling people because you have a huge mouth and can’t keep a single thought restrained for even a minute. Then you have people asking you if you’re pregnant every day like it’s medically possible to ovulate once a week and you should have had lots of opportunities by now and, “why aren’t you pregnant yet?”
And, when should you do it? Every day? Every other day? In the morning? Evening? The second Friday of the month followed by a full moon??? How about when you’re on a family vacation sleeping in the same room as your 18 month old son in his pack-n-play and separated from your 80-year-old grandparents by only a poorly insulated wall? Major turn on.
And make sure you’re tracking your ovulation. By this I mean pissing on your hand in a cup and trying not to spill it on yourself every blinking morning. That, or listen to your body like Mother Nature would do. While I’m somewhat in tune with my body, I’m not all that cool with swiping my digits through my business to check the cervical mucus. Oh, God. I hate even typing the words cervical mucus. Vomit. And taking my basal body temperature first thing in the morning? Oh, yeah, let me just lay here in bed and take my temperature when my child wakes me up at 6:00 am screaming “Mama! Mama!” Right. I’ll remember to do that.
And when it’s finally time to take the blasted pregnancy test… after the infinitely long two-week wait… if you fail you’ve got to do it all over again. And then you’ve got to deal with disappointment combined with PMS. And then you have to gain five to ten pounds because you have to live it up in the two weeks you’re not possibly pregnant- starting with lots of vodka and ending with loads of sugar.
The whole process is crap.
Sounds like I’ve been doing this a while now, right? Well, not this time around. It took about a year and a little surgical procedure to get pregnant with baby number 1, so naturally I’m a little nervous starting this process again. We are in the midst of month four of baby-making and I have an ultrasound on Friday to see if I’m having some of the same issues as before. By the way, I’m soooo excited for the way-too-chatty ultrasound chick to stick a huge wand up my you-know-what and talk my ear off while she’s got it up there for way. too. long.
At least my doctor is awesome.
At the risk of sounding really, really whiny (ooops, too late)… I want a baby sooooo baaaaad!!!!! Even more than I ever thought I wanted baby number one I am dying for baby number two. After those terrible first couple of months with a newborn (sleep deprivation, postpartum depression, etc.) that little baby became a laughing, learning little nugget of CUTE!!! He’s my world. The best thing I’ve ever done. I want six more, but I’ll settle for one. No, two. At least two more. I don’t want next time to be the last time I fall in love with one of the sweetest creatures ever in existence. I probably cry at least three times a day while playing with my sweet man. No lie. He’s not the world’s most perfect/happy/genius baby. He’s your average kid. I just love him so dang much.
That’s the sappy truth. I hate hate hate hate hate baby-making, but the end product is just about the best thing ever. Even with all the crap that comes with the little one… it’s still awesome. So I guess we’ll just keep on trying. Yuck. Who would have ever thought I’d be ready to get pregnant just so I can stop having so much sex? If only my 18-year-old self could hear me now… so sad.