Apropos of nothing, my most highly fertile days this month coincided with the dates of the bar exam so that, in between taking a last-minute peek at flash cards and outlines, the hubby and I embarked on a marathon “bonin’ spree.” We rallied. It was practically heroic.* But was it effective? Eight to 12 days will tell.
Of course I know, because Google tells me, that women experience early pregnancy differently. I can’t rely on the experiences of other women to predict whether my bod is marinating a zygote, but the urge to overanalyze my every abdominal cramp, back ache, and slightly swollen leftmost boob in step with hundreds of other women overanalyzing theirs is…well, extremely tempting.
Tempting, but very probably pretty useless except in that it makes me feel a little less obsessive for obsessively wondering (wishing!) whether this is it; there are, in fact, hundreds and thousands of other Mom Hopefuls posting on message boards in online forums. Could this be? For me, for them, I’d like to think so. I’m all wrapped up in their quests to conceive in spite of never having met them and thinking that what for all their “baby dust,” they might be nuts. (Seriously. Have a look-see at these Internet message boards! Mom Hopefuls “sprinkle baby dust” meaning something like “good luck with that,” to fellow Mom Hopefuls engaged in the “baby dance,” meaning carefully timed relations. This is to say nothing for their liberal use of acronyms, either. So liberal, in fact, they require their own dictionary!)
These are my friends in fertility: folks who validate my own anxious wondering (wishing!) with anxious wondering (wishing!) of their very own.
* And what’s “heroic” mean, exactly? It means once a day. For seven days straight. From the first appearance of fertile-quality cervical fluid to a positive read on an ovulation predictor kit to a spike in basal body temperature indicating ovulation had, very probably, occurred. Heroic.
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