I was stalking someone online or mindlessly scrolling Instagram by the glow of the moon in bed one night the first time I came across the acronym TTC. A google search later, I learned that there was an entire ‘Trying to Conceive’ community, and honestly, it felt like the internet was wrapping me in a hug.
When my daughter was ten months old, I stopped nursing. She had more or less weaned herself by this point; we only nursed in the morning and at night, and some nights she just wasn’t interested. Her needs aside, this mom is thirty-four and once upon a time had real aspirations of giving Michelle Duggar a run for her money when it came to the mega-family. Nineteen kids? Cool. Babies for days? Sign me up. I’m sure it won’t come as a shock to you that it took a while to find a husband who was also into this mega-family lifestyle. Believe it or not, “ISO Man for MegaFam” doesn’t get you too many ‘swipe rights.’ But I digress. It seemed clear to me that my first step in trying to conceive another sweet babe was to stop nursing and get my hormones regulated. Thus, at thirty-four, here I was with one beautiful little girl, a willing participant of a husband, and a newly minted member of the TTC gang.
Fast-forward a few months, and my daughter, Lottie Grace, is now thirteen months old, and I still find myself TTC. Some of my best friends recommended various apps to try and track ovulation, others offered their ovulation sticks because they just hadn’t needed them and conceived immediately (Neat.). Still, others gave some dietary advice and recommended to cut back on alcohol and caffeine. Here’s a great time to tell you that I love a craft beer and an Americano—like a lot. But, having tangible steps I could take to graduate my status from TTC to expecting? Alright, buckle up hubs and expect some turbulence—I might get grumpy.
Unfortunately, the lifestyle changes haven’t yet been enough, and subsequently, I have become a woman obsessed. Which interestingly enough, I am told also may inhibit your chances of conceiving. Again, neat. Another google search told me that there were both male and female supplements you and your partner could take that would boost your chances of conception. Gentle readers, I am not proud of what I am about to tell you. I began to make my husband a smoothie every morning and dumped in some ‘sperm boosting magic powder’ hurriedly before he saw me. I watched with an impish grin as he choked down the chalky smoothie. He said it wasn’t bad. I peered over the rim of my coffee mug and told him I was proud of him for being so healthy. I visualized the sperm within him multiplying and strengthening right before my eyes. Did I just maniacally giggle out loud?
Thirty minutes after that first sperm smoothie, he said he couldn’t finish his breakfast. He massaged his temples and muttered that he felt dizzy, nauseous, ‘just not right.’ And then, the moment which I had dreaded, “Hey, what was in that smoothie?” Cut to a clip from the evening news: ‘Westfield woman poisons husband…”
I came clean then and there. I told him about the shake ingredients, the promised effects, how I was taking a supplement as well that promised to take years off my eggs. He rolled his eyes, laughed at me, and agreed to continue drinking the vomit-inducing shakes. I think he could see the crazy in my eyes. Heck, sometimes I pass a mirror, and even I can see the crazy in my eyes.
Trying to Conceive, you are one group that I cannot wait to leave. That being said, it is awfully nice to know I’m not alone.
