Ever since I read J-Lo’s twin baby story in PEOPLE magazine, a quote has stuck with me: “You only get 12 chances a year… it took time“. So true. Time is always on my mind.
How long is my cycle.
How many days do I have my period.
When and for how long do I ovulate.
How many years since we started trying.
How many days to I have to wait to do a HPT.
How many months of clomid I’ve had.
How many times do we have to have sex each day.
If I do fall, what date would it be due.
… plus soooo many more.
Today I’m at my ovulating peak as far as my ovulation calender is concerned. Yay me. Poor Steve is a wreck and totally worn out. We have to have sex at least every 12 hours when I’m ovulating and once every 24 hours every other day. I had to wake him up at 5am this morning and somehow manage to appear sexy (secretly got up, brushed my teeth and hair) as on Monday’s he’s really busy at work and wouldn’t be able to come home for lunch 😛
Mind you, it’s not like we’re robots. I remember a visit to the gyno late last year, he was putting on his gloves and wanted to schedule my next appointment. I said I’d have to check with work as I’d just got a job. He said, “Where are you working, at a sex shop“. With a grin on my face I said “Umm… actually yes I am, Club X in the city“. The glove snapped, the Doc was shocked and we all rolled about laughing. Finally he managed a response “Well thats good, keep it interesting“. My Doc is so awesome.
The spontaneous sex is long gone. It’s become more like a missle launch so to speak. It’s still exciting, intimate, naughty and beautiful, just a little regimented. There was a thunderstorm yesterday arvo and we stayed under the covers, snuggled up in our little lovenest. We let all the positive vibes circle us and spoke about all our hopes and Steve kissed my belly for good luck. I said each thunder crack was the sound of magic and our tiny world changing.
It’s going to be a long 14 days, waiting to see if all our beautiful baby making, baby-dust wishes and thunderstorm magic has done it’s thing.