Sperm Have Tools and I Might Steal Your Kid

For some of you, seventeen months might be a way that you would describe the age of your child. You know, another way of saying almost a year and a half. For me, it’s the way I describe the length of time my husband and I have been trying to get pregnant. Unsuccessfully.

Now before I go on, don’t get all huffy thinking this is another blog post complaining about my empty womb. This is just my way of expressing all the shit that piles up inside and needs to be let out. It will be honest and raw and probably sarcastic. It’s just what I need to do. (Side note: If you don’t want to read about sperm and babies and sex, you may not want to continue reading. You’ve been warned.)

Okay, first. How many years did I try not to get pregnant? Answer: A lot. All those years of health class and sex ed make you believe that it is so figgin’ easy to get pregnant. Like if you even think about a boy, his sperm will magically jump inside your uterus, hunt down your egg, and fertilize it.

Or the time my high school boyfriend’s mother told us this horrifying story that she swore up and down was true: after fooling around, this guy splooged on this girl’s leg, and instead of cleaning it up, she let it trickle down her leg toward her vagina and she ended up pregnant without ever having sex. (In retrospect, I’m not sure if this was a story she heard or the story of how she ended up pregnant herself.) Anyway, growing up, adults all over the place would have you believe that sperm have these special tools to break into your uterus and attack your helpless egg, knocking you up and leaving you to live as a single mother.

Well, I call bullshit. Never in my life did I think I’d be trying so damn hard to get pregnant. Do you know how many times my husband and I have had unprotected sex since we’ve been trying to conceive? Answer: Hundreds. Do you know how many perfectly good sperm, with tools intact, have been released inside me? Answer: Probably buckets full. Still, Aunt Flo comes knocking every 28-30 days, smiling and bearing flowers that I just want to bash her over the head with.

Also, I just have to vent about all the people who accidentally get pregnant. I can’t even. I know I’m not supposed to compare my journey to anyone else’s, but come on. This is just ridiculous. People who are not physically or emotionally healthy, they somehow make babies.

Or, and I preface this by saying I really am happy for you, the people who have been trying for less time than my husband and I. Again, I’m not supposed to compare. But it’s happening so get over it. There’s a very irrational part of me that thinks, wait a minute, we were in line ahead of you, we’ve been waiting for longer, how come you get to go first? That’s not fair.

And that’s when anger shows up. I expected the sadness and frustration, and even the hope and despair. The tears and the ‘I’m not going to cry again’. But anger, that surprised me. I find myself getting angry for all sorts of reasons. I get angry at people who are pregnant, who have been pregnant, who talk about their pregnancy in positive or negative terms. I get angry at people who have kids, who talk about their kids, and especially at people who talk to me about not having kids. I get angry at my body for failing me. Basically, there’s no possible way you can win. It’s irrational and it’s no one’s fault. Anger is an irrational emotion, and it comes from a place of hurt. I know that. (Another side note: I feel the need to say that I don’t hate pregnant women or mothers at all. Go ahead and talk to me about your children, because they’re beautiful. It just gets hard sometimes, you know?)

And then crazy creeps in. There are times when I think I might just, you know, take someone else’s kid and call him/her my own. That would work, right? I’m not talking about adoption. I’m talking about stalking the cutest kid at a public place, waiting for the moment that his/her parent is preoccupied with something else, and go in for the grab. Oh, wouldn’t my husband be surprised to come home and find me trying to soothe our new child (who would no doubt be terrified and traumatized). Obviously, I’m kidding. You don’t have to keep a close eye on me around your children, I promise.

All I’m saying is, this whole trying to conceive thing is hard. And it brings out the ugly. It’s one of those hot button issues that no matter what your beliefs or what you say, you will somehow be wrong. Each person and each couple experiences it differently. I can’t give you advice on how to be sensitive to someone you know who’s struggling to get pregnant. What I can do is be honest and say that there are days when I’m really, really ugly about the whole thing. It’s not rational and it’s not cute. But it’s part of the deal.

I don’t have a rainbows and sunshine way to end this. It’s another day, another try, and another load of sperm.

Such is life.

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Kayla’s Quirks: Succulent Bush – August 16th

I have an office with a total of zero windows and a million sterile cinder blocks for walls. For these reasons, I wanted to invest in some fake plants to make myself believe that I don’t in fact work in a musty, old closet.

Mission accomplished! I found two very interesting looking plants to add amongst the families of daddy longlegs who I share my office with.

One of the plants I picked is named “Succulent Bush.” I’m not even kidding. Andy and I had this conversation while shopping for plants.

Me: “I love this one. It’s so interesting looking. All the kids are going to want to touch it.”

Andy: “I bet you’re right.”

Me: “I’ll have to train them that the area is for adult’s only and tell them they aren’t allowed to touch my succulent bush.”

Andy: (laughing)

Me: “Wait, I probably shouldn’t say that at school.”

Andy: “You shouldn’t say that in public either.”

Here’s a picture of my succulent bush:

succulent bush

Made in China. Shocker!

Kayla’s Quirks & The Texts

I say a lot of weird stuff. I can’t help it. It’s just the way my mind works. I’m quirky. Sometimes it gets me strange looks. Sometimes it makes people laugh. Other times it makes people not want to talk to me anymore. Either way, it makes things interesting.

I usually save my weirdest stuff for Andy, because he’s married to me so he has to listen (well maybe not listen, listen, but at least put up with it). I can always tell when I’ve said something ‘not normal’ or sexually inappropriate because I’ll get one of two reactions from him:

1. A very loud laugh while he throws his head back

or

2. A slow head shake, closed eyes, and a pat on my head along with a “Oh, wife…” (kind of like what you might do to your dog when they totally embarrass you in public).

Well, I’ve decided to share some of the weird and sexually laden shit I say with anyone who wants to read it. That’s what blogs are for, right?

I’m going to call these posts “Kayla’s Quirks” and publish them whenever I feel like it.

Here’s a sample:

Last night, Andy and I were talking about kissing and facial hair. Andy grows a goatee or beard every so often, and while I used to hate it, I’ve grown accustomed to the prickly feel. However, it effects our kissing. I do pull away sometimes because I HATE having a bastard hair poke my sensitive lip or shove itself up my nose. It’s friggin’ annoying!

So while laying in bed, we had this conversation…

Me: “Husband, we don’t make out that much anymore.”

Andy: “I know. You always pull away from me.”

Me: “That’s because I don’t like being poked by your prickly hairs.”

Andy: “I’ve been thinking about shaving it down. Does my beard prevent you from kissing me?”

Me: “No, not really. I still like kissing you, but….(pause)….your beard hair is a roadblock to make out town.”

After laughing for about 30 seconds, Andy told me I should post that quote on my blog.

Then we made out.


 

The other thing I want to do on my blog is start something called “The Texts.”  These posts will be random text conversations I’ve had, mostly between Andy and I. The reason for sharing these is because texting is ridiculous and I love it – it’s so easy to put the wrong word or misinterpret what someone meant, which leads to all kinds of awesomeness. I also say weird stuff in my texts, so stay tuned. (I should say that I got this idea from Brittany, Herself – she has a section on her blog called “The Emails” and it’s awesome.)

Here’s a sample. Let’s call it: Body parts – July 23rd

Me: Husband, what are your top 5 favorite parts of my body?

Andy: Your butt your brain your va-jay-jay your stomach your shape and your boobs

Me: Umm….that’s 6. But thank you for answering honestly.

Andy: Ur welcome

Me: I like how you put my butt before my brain.

Andy: Lol they r a tie

Me: Okay, now you’re just lying. My brain can’t sway and twerk like my butt can.

Andy: Lol no it can’t butt it’s just as sexy

Me: Please tell me you meant to write but as butt.

Andy: Yes I did that was part of the fun

Me: And that’s why I love you.

Andy: I’m glad.