Two nights ago, my Honey asked me while helping me pick up and clean the house (yes, he’s one of THOSE kind of husbands), “So are you, like, ovulating soon?”
I smiled and said, “I already did. About two days ago.” Which I had already told him (yes, he’s also one of THOSE husbands), but that’s beside the point.
He stopped in his tracks. “You did???” he asked. “Don’t we usually have lots of sex when that’s happening?”
Which made me laugh and also goes to show, ladies and gents (or really, just ladies), how laid-back I have let this cycle be. We did have sex, every other day, but none of the daily baby-dancing that I usually force us to do when the OPKs start to turn positive. That’s partly because I was never sure of my exact ovulation day, partly because we’ve been so tired and busy since our return from London, and partly because I just really didn’t care that much.
And last night, when Honey asked me while I was plucking my eyebrows, “So do you think you’re pregnant?,” I was able to tell him an unequivocal no, I did not. That’s the first time I’ve ever said that to this same question. I usually shrug and say “Maybe.” or “I’m not sure. I hope so!” I do hope, of course. I will always hope. But do I believe? Do I think there’s a chance? Not really.
But here’s a teensy tiny little secret, my bloggy friends: There is a smallish part of me that hopes this carefree sort of attitude will do what no amount of optimism and hope has…it will get me pregnant. Not in the “oops! I’m accidentally pregnant!” sort of way because, let’s face it, we have been trying and we’ve been trying hard. And I’m starting to feel like we will always be trying until my ovaries become shriveled up and old and Out of Service. What I’m talking about is pregnant in the “I just relaxed and wah-lah!” sort of way. Which is a very circular way of hoping. Hoping by not hoping.
And I know, I know. I’m crazy. And I’ve probably just jinxed it all by typing this. But oh well. I don’t care, remember? And let’s get real. We all know that sort of thing only happens to other people. Not me. Except that one time, two and a half years ago, when believing I was not pregnant did, indeed, get me pregnant and gave me a healthy baby nine months later. But not me again. I’m not so naive to think that that kind of luck strikes someone twice.
Instead, while I wait for this two-week wait to pass, I will just enjoy this feeling of peace and patience that has gripped me for the time being. And I will look forward to my RE appointment and to the new hope that it may give me.