Friday, April 6, 2007


March 25, 2005

The Big "O." Sigh... There was a time I thought it meant something else. And I don't mean Oprah.

In recent months, though, it's taken on a whole new meaning. That's right, girls: were talking ovulation. That sometimes elusive yet absolute essential to babymaking. That biological detail which, in seventh grade sex ed. class, was about as interesting to me as photosynthesis. Who knew that sixteen years later, an obsession with it would crowd my thoughts more than any junior high crush?

How It All Began

It all started when I came off birth control pills. No, wait--it actually started when I gained fifteen pounds and experienced periodic nausea on The Pill. A friend of mine suggested I try Natural Family Planning.

"Oh, you mean the rhythm method," I said. "No thanks."

Yet as my friend explained the clues my body has been giving me for years, I agreed to do some reading. Four fertility books later, I was a convert. By reading my body's signals, I would know when ovulation was coming and when it had gone. All a girl needs for birth control!

Armed with a basal body thermometer, a chart, and a newfound ability to touch parts of my body that previously I did not know existed, I described the method to my husband.

All of the books had told me what a bonding experience this would be for us. He would ask my symptoms and record them on the chart. We would decide together which days were "safe." We would grow in intimacy as we explored other ways to express affection on the unsafe days.

A short discussion later, I wondered where those books had found those men. So we bought stock in Trojan.

I was too intrigued with my body, though, to give up. I charted, I campaigned, and a few months later had a compliant husband, who was perhaps less than thrilled with the previous compromise.

Now that we're trying to achieve what we once worked so hard to prevent, the chart consumes me. No blissful ignorance to our attempts at babymaking! I'm on the constant lookout for The Big "O."

Waiting is the Hardest Part

So the month we actually start trying, my chart gets all screwy. It's Day 23 with no O in sight. Six months of folks remedies to regulate ovulation have worked, so it seems, for the most part. Until now. When it counts.

"You take more pills than an 80-year-old woman," Tom chides as I throw a handful of vitamins down my throat.

"My body's got to be healthy if I'm going to ovulate," I reply, a touch of hysteria to my voice. Did I mention I've given up sugar?

Serious business, this babymaking.

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