Spawnless Sleuths and Sexcapades.

The wedding was lovely, and what for all the romance in the air we made to get knocked up right there in this little inn in the Pocono Mountains a stone’s throw from where my sister, all her friends, our family (and not least of which my parents) were shacking up for the night. Or maybe, for a change, we just felt like having sex.

Relish the moment.

As anyone who makes to get knocked up (and doesn’t on her first try) will tell you, Projected Progenitors oft’ struggle with bouts of, umm, Freaking Fatigue. Insert more colorful capital F if you choose. Bottom line: At some point, even really good sex gets old as, this very morning, it did for the Projected Pops. Think: We interrupt this act of intimacy for a time check! A time check! It was 8:13a.m. We might have went right on romping, too, if I could get over it.

Seriously. You checked the time?

Seriously, yes. So this isn’t going to work is it?

No.

Maybe later?

Probably not. You checked the time!

I didn’t even want to have sex in the first place!

Ouch.
First, If I were taking this personally (and I am, just a little) I’d intuit that I am officially not very desirable. At least not to my spouse. Second, I’d undulate between frustrated, angry, sad and sorry. Third, I’d wonder how we got to this place where something he used to enjoy (and I still kinda do), he doesn’t appear to, and maybe he still does, but he could have fooled me. Fourth, I digress.

Mostly, we’re a couple of Spawnless Sleuths who’ve recently unearthed what might amount to be several important clues as to precisely why it is that we’re so damn spawnless in the first place.

It would appear each of our physiologies – and dumb unluck – are to thank for our only-hypothetical kid. (That and, perhaps, our suffering sexcapades.) We can’t say for certain because, it appears, we’re committed to play the dreaded waiting game of so many couples tackling fertility issues. No tests and no treatment until a year’s time because I’m under 35 and insurance won’t foot the bill. Still. We’re Spawnless Sleuths, so we know what’s going on here. Sort of.

What’s going on would be too much information except in that I promised to document the good, bad and ugly on our quest to Somebody’s Folks. It’s this: Two years ago, the Projected Pops was diagnosed with two spermatoceles in one testicle and a vericocele in the other. His doctor never told him his fertility could be affected and perhaps because the medical community isn’t completely sure just how. We’re reading up on the matter and realizing how much we weren’t informed about how something little (and common) could mean such uncommon heartache for so many people trying to get knocked up. Like say, us. Two months ago, I was treated (unsuccessfully) for a condition that’s also extremely common but new(s) to me: bacterial vaginosis. Whereas normally it clears right up with antibiotics, mine has amounted to something recurrent. My doc doesn’t know why, either, and nobody can say for certain that BV hampers conception, but it sure enough might. It does alter the Ph balance of my girl parts so that they’re less hospitable to my hubby’s, er, deposits. What to do? We’ll see. We’ll see when the earlier of insurance says we can or we strike it ridiculously rich and pay out of pocket for treatments occurs.

Time check aside, maybe sweet lovin’ doesn’t even matter for us (apart from because it’s awesome), which is why I think it’s so damn important that Bonin’ for Babies be…well, about grown-ups. 

And so, as anyone who makes to get knocked up (and doesn’t on her first try) will tell you: There will be days like this. And there will be days, too, when you can’t possibly imagine being in this boat all alone or with someone else. And, sometimes, those days will be the very same one.
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About Projected Progenitor

Projected (adj.) (prə-ˈjekt-ed): From the 15th Century Anglo-French 'projector,' from Latin 'projectus.' Devised in the mind, predicted. Progenitor (n.) (prō-ˈje-nə-tər): Middle English, from the 14th Century Anglo-French 'progenitour,' from Latin 'progenitor,' meaning 'to beget.' An ancestor in the direct line, foreparent.
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