Monday, August 8
I spent 8 months planning our wedding. Every detail, every vendor, everything. I dove headfirst into the project and loved it. Yes, it was stressful. Yes, I was frustrated with DH’s lack of participation or disagreement with the decisions I wanted to make. But I did good. I got it done and our wedding was amazing. It felt good to pull it off. To have a project, to make goals, to create a vision and watch it come to life. Projects are obviously good for me. I need to get on top of more of them: write that book, get that blog out there, write screenplay with DH…
In the meantime, I’m starting the baby project. First, the research. Time to get started arming myself with all things baby knowledge. So I dove in, googling everything from “breastfeeding” to “how to conceive” to “when do I ovulate?” Holy balls, what was I worried about? I only have a 10% chance of getting pregnant each month, and that’s only during a 12-48 hour window! Now that I know how hard this may be, I feel a little relieved. The pessimist in me is like, well, it probably won’t happen. And if it does, then it’ll be a miracle baby. That’ll be cool.
I realize that I have two choices: 1) get the ovulation predictor kit and sign up for a fertility tracker and check my fluids daily (ew – some parts of this are really gross) and pee on sticks and do all the non-romantic things couples can do to optimize their chances and make it happen asap. Or 2) Have sex 3 times a week. Then we’re covered, no matter when/if my egg decides to drop. One of these seemed way more fun. We chose that one.