LIFE STORY: A year in the (sex) life of a couple wanting a baby
Life Story
Command performance
By Angela Navarrete
A year in the (sex) life of a couple wanting a baby
'Let's do it, baby,' I told my husband. Not because I was filled with crazy lust for him, or wanted him so badly it hurt. I wanted to get pregnant. I wanted a baby.
You've heard it before: Having a baby changes your relationship. What people don't realize, though, is that the changes start not from the time the baby's born, or even when you're pregnant. They start as soon as you look into your beloved's eyes and decide to have a child together. If anyone ever tells you that trying is the fun part, don't be too quick to believe them. Our sex life turned from one of easygoing fun and blistering passion to one ruled by schedules, biology, and the massive weight of knowing that the future of our lineage depended on whether we did the deed.
It's easy to forget that making love is about two people, not three.
Not Really Trying — Yeah, Right! When we decided to toss my birth control pills in the trash, we were still newlyweds, not even married a year. At first it was great. We decided we wouldn't really try for a few months, but we would stop not trying. I now know this is code for 'We hope it happens right away.'
When we first did the wild thing without protection, the sex was exhilarating — infused with a higher purpose, each touch, each sensation more intense than it had been before. The possibility of a baby tinged every moment with a mysterious, deep new significance. Suddenly, sex was about more than just feeling good. We were trying to make a new life, one that would carry the best of both of us into the future. I asked myself, what if it happens this month, when we weren't even really trying? Somewhere inside, I just knew it would. After all, women get pregnant all the time, even when they're not really trying. And I was young, healthy, with a regular cycle. Why shouldn't it happen right away?
Fast forward three months. A seed of worry takes root inside me, because I'm still not pregnant. Maybe we aren't that good at this getting pregnant stuff after all. Maybe there is something wrong. The giddiness I've felt at the prospect of a baby starts to fade, and though our lovemaking is still satisfying, it starts to lose its luster. Amid the clothes flung on the floor and the tangled Sunday sheets, I wonder if we can actually have children.
What if, when we really start trying, it still doesn't work?
Meet the Sex Nazi Once the three-month 'not trying' period was up, we got busy, and I don't just mean between the sheets. I've never been one to do something halfway, and I took on Project Conception with a fury. I took my temperature every morning, made fertility charts that brought back memories of junior high math classes, paid attention to every twinge in my side for signs of ovulation, and gave up sushi and alcohol during those crucial two weeks when I could be pregnant. Armed with science and reason, I just knew I'd get pregnant soon.
Above all, I jumped my husband when it counted. I discovered that conception can really only happen within a window of a few days every month. During these days, passion became subordinate to timing. I had become the Sex Nazi. If my husband gave me that look that said 'Rrowr' on, say, day eight of my cycle, somewhere inside me a voice would say, 'But it won't count if we do it today.' Once that magical day just before ovulation rolled around, that same voice said: 'Quick, do it now. Shave your legs, pluck your eyebrows, get out the red baby doll nightgown with the matching underwear, and get busy!'
So what's the problem, you ask? What's wrong with looking good, whipping out the sexy lingerie, and attacking my husband? In and of itself, nothing. But the urge to do the wild thing wasn't coming from the right place. It was tinged with desperation, with the fear that it was now or never, that I'd miss the boat if I didn't jump on the opportunity. So what if my husband was tired and not in the mood? So what if I wasn't in the mood? Whatever happened to having sex for the sake of sex?
This is not the stuff that wild lovemaking is made of. My husband started to feel like a prize steer, and I felt like I was forcing both of us to do something that, until then, had been a tremendous source of pleasure.
After four months of consulting my charts like a medieval psychic scratching through chicken entrails, I heard from my sister. 'I'm pregnant,' she sang. 'We weren't even really trying!'
I put the thermometer back in the bathroom cabinet where it belonged, and threw my charts away. It was time for a change of tactics.
I'm Relaxed, Really! At this point, my husband stepped in and took hold of the reins. It was a new year. I was looking for a new job. We were ready for a fresh start. His mandate was for me to relax and let things happen.
We decided we would just make love when we felt like it. Goodbye temperature charts, goodbye schedule. If we just relax and have sex, a baby will come. Unfortunately, this was easier said than done.
Another six months went by. With each passing month, I became more upset. This relaxing thing wasn't working — nature wasn't taking her course! I began to drop hints to my husband that sounded like suggestive propositions only to the untrained ear. 'Tonight could be a really good night,' or 'I'd really like to take you to bed early.' Outwardly, I was relaxed and ready to romp. Inwardly, I was still having sex at gunpoint.
Letting Go Finally we simply got tired of the whole thing. Tired of worrying about timing, tired of speculating about our fertility. For the first time in more than a year, I didn't care if I got pregnant that month. In fact, I was sure it wouldn't happen, and that was fine. When I announced to my husband that I wanted to stop trying for a while, he seemed disappointed, but supportive (I suspect now that he didn't believe me, but that's another story). Due to hectic work schedules and illness, we didn't even have sex during the optimal time, and I didn't care.
My high school reunion came around. We got dressed to the nines, had way too much to drink (something I wouldn't have done only a few months before), danced like Fred and Ginger, and then had the kind of sex that perhaps only newlyweds in a hotel room far from home can have. It was more than fun — it was perhaps the first time in a year that we had made love without thinking, 'Could this be it?'
It took. My period was a no-show that month. After 14 months of trying, I got pregnant when I wasn't even looking.
Now I look back on that time and wonder why I made myself and my husband so crazy, and why I sacrificed so much happiness to the fertility goddess. She didn't want it. Nature has her own plans, and no matter how many books we read, or temperatures we charted, or sexual positions we tried, it simply wasn't up to us. Nature, in the end, performed her miracles without our help.
If I had that year to live over again, I don't know if we would or could have done it any differently. Once you want a baby so badly, it's difficult to think of anything else, and marital bliss often takes a back seat to the ticking of the biological clock. Luckily, a year later, we've come out the other side — still loving, a lot wiser, and most important, expecting our first child.
Command performance
By Angela Navarrete
A year in the (sex) life of a couple wanting a baby
'Let's do it, baby,' I told my husband. Not because I was filled with crazy lust for him, or wanted him so badly it hurt. I wanted to get pregnant. I wanted a baby.
You've heard it before: Having a baby changes your relationship. What people don't realize, though, is that the changes start not from the time the baby's born, or even when you're pregnant. They start as soon as you look into your beloved's eyes and decide to have a child together. If anyone ever tells you that trying is the fun part, don't be too quick to believe them. Our sex life turned from one of easygoing fun and blistering passion to one ruled by schedules, biology, and the massive weight of knowing that the future of our lineage depended on whether we did the deed.
It's easy to forget that making love is about two people, not three.
Not Really Trying — Yeah, Right! When we decided to toss my birth control pills in the trash, we were still newlyweds, not even married a year. At first it was great. We decided we wouldn't really try for a few months, but we would stop not trying. I now know this is code for 'We hope it happens right away.'
When we first did the wild thing without protection, the sex was exhilarating — infused with a higher purpose, each touch, each sensation more intense than it had been before. The possibility of a baby tinged every moment with a mysterious, deep new significance. Suddenly, sex was about more than just feeling good. We were trying to make a new life, one that would carry the best of both of us into the future. I asked myself, what if it happens this month, when we weren't even really trying? Somewhere inside, I just knew it would. After all, women get pregnant all the time, even when they're not really trying. And I was young, healthy, with a regular cycle. Why shouldn't it happen right away?
Fast forward three months. A seed of worry takes root inside me, because I'm still not pregnant. Maybe we aren't that good at this getting pregnant stuff after all. Maybe there is something wrong. The giddiness I've felt at the prospect of a baby starts to fade, and though our lovemaking is still satisfying, it starts to lose its luster. Amid the clothes flung on the floor and the tangled Sunday sheets, I wonder if we can actually have children.
What if, when we really start trying, it still doesn't work?
Meet the Sex Nazi Once the three-month 'not trying' period was up, we got busy, and I don't just mean between the sheets. I've never been one to do something halfway, and I took on Project Conception with a fury. I took my temperature every morning, made fertility charts that brought back memories of junior high math classes, paid attention to every twinge in my side for signs of ovulation, and gave up sushi and alcohol during those crucial two weeks when I could be pregnant. Armed with science and reason, I just knew I'd get pregnant soon.
Above all, I jumped my husband when it counted. I discovered that conception can really only happen within a window of a few days every month. During these days, passion became subordinate to timing. I had become the Sex Nazi. If my husband gave me that look that said 'Rrowr' on, say, day eight of my cycle, somewhere inside me a voice would say, 'But it won't count if we do it today.' Once that magical day just before ovulation rolled around, that same voice said: 'Quick, do it now. Shave your legs, pluck your eyebrows, get out the red baby doll nightgown with the matching underwear, and get busy!'
So what's the problem, you ask? What's wrong with looking good, whipping out the sexy lingerie, and attacking my husband? In and of itself, nothing. But the urge to do the wild thing wasn't coming from the right place. It was tinged with desperation, with the fear that it was now or never, that I'd miss the boat if I didn't jump on the opportunity. So what if my husband was tired and not in the mood? So what if I wasn't in the mood? Whatever happened to having sex for the sake of sex?
This is not the stuff that wild lovemaking is made of. My husband started to feel like a prize steer, and I felt like I was forcing both of us to do something that, until then, had been a tremendous source of pleasure.
After four months of consulting my charts like a medieval psychic scratching through chicken entrails, I heard from my sister. 'I'm pregnant,' she sang. 'We weren't even really trying!'
I put the thermometer back in the bathroom cabinet where it belonged, and threw my charts away. It was time for a change of tactics.
I'm Relaxed, Really! At this point, my husband stepped in and took hold of the reins. It was a new year. I was looking for a new job. We were ready for a fresh start. His mandate was for me to relax and let things happen.
We decided we would just make love when we felt like it. Goodbye temperature charts, goodbye schedule. If we just relax and have sex, a baby will come. Unfortunately, this was easier said than done.
Another six months went by. With each passing month, I became more upset. This relaxing thing wasn't working — nature wasn't taking her course! I began to drop hints to my husband that sounded like suggestive propositions only to the untrained ear. 'Tonight could be a really good night,' or 'I'd really like to take you to bed early.' Outwardly, I was relaxed and ready to romp. Inwardly, I was still having sex at gunpoint.
Letting Go Finally we simply got tired of the whole thing. Tired of worrying about timing, tired of speculating about our fertility. For the first time in more than a year, I didn't care if I got pregnant that month. In fact, I was sure it wouldn't happen, and that was fine. When I announced to my husband that I wanted to stop trying for a while, he seemed disappointed, but supportive (I suspect now that he didn't believe me, but that's another story). Due to hectic work schedules and illness, we didn't even have sex during the optimal time, and I didn't care.
My high school reunion came around. We got dressed to the nines, had way too much to drink (something I wouldn't have done only a few months before), danced like Fred and Ginger, and then had the kind of sex that perhaps only newlyweds in a hotel room far from home can have. It was more than fun — it was perhaps the first time in a year that we had made love without thinking, 'Could this be it?'
It took. My period was a no-show that month. After 14 months of trying, I got pregnant when I wasn't even looking.
Now I look back on that time and wonder why I made myself and my husband so crazy, and why I sacrificed so much happiness to the fertility goddess. She didn't want it. Nature has her own plans, and no matter how many books we read, or temperatures we charted, or sexual positions we tried, it simply wasn't up to us. Nature, in the end, performed her miracles without our help.
If I had that year to live over again, I don't know if we would or could have done it any differently. Once you want a baby so badly, it's difficult to think of anything else, and marital bliss often takes a back seat to the ticking of the biological clock. Luckily, a year later, we've come out the other side — still loving, a lot wiser, and most important, expecting our first child.
