In Search of Mommyhood

I remember getting a lecture from some theological-type leader in my teens telling me that if I ever had sex before marriage, God would strike me pregnant because I had sinned. Now that I'm married and we want to start a family, we're begging God to bless us with a positive sign on a pee stick. It's quite a switch to WANT to get pregnant, vs. trying not to get knocked up - a whole different frame of mind.

We've been trying for seven months - according to fertility experts this puts us in the fast track to "fertility problems." After you turn 35, they don't mess around much. They give you six months and then you're sent off to the fertility experts.

We met with the FE (fertility expert- as they're called in fertility chat rooms) last month and she quickly diagnosed me with PCOS and a uterus with a bunch of scar tissue. Put those two together and you have a recipe for an unlikely place for the swim team and the eggs to get together for a happy hour mixer.

So, this is our first month on Clomid - the starter step for all gals condemned to a wear the letter "I" on their chest (infertile). It's just five little pills that you take day 5-9 of your cycle. It basically stimulates FSH and LH hormones that help produce the big "O" - in this case ovulation. Since I rarely ovulate on my own, Clomid could be my ticket to mommyhood.

Clomid, by the way, makes you CRAZY. I swear, I was a basket case for those five days. I yelled at my husband about every hour on the hour. Thankfully, it was just for five days. However, Hubby was all for the sex-every-other-day romp n' roll regime prescribed by the doc for that "fertile window." I'm pretty sure he'd rather we had to go through this a few more months to get the bonus frequent flyer miles - even willing to endure the Clomid-induced, two-headed crazy bitch who comes to live in house.