EVERY OTHER DAY

My friend Heather has been telling me all along that I need to employ her successful baby-making method of "trying" every other day. For all this long while, the idea of undertaking such an endeavor has been downright laughable. Between work and exercise and commitments and errands and chores and stress and tiredness, we're generally doing a victory dance if we have sex during the work week at all. But every other day?! That's cute. That's impossible.

However, I'm starting to approach something like desperation. 80 percent of couples who are going to conceive do it within the first six months. Within the second six months, that amount goes up by only 5 percent (i.e., 85 percent of couples trying to conceive succeed within the first year). I don't know if it's statistically accurate to say we have a 5 percent chance of conceiving between now and April, but it's something like that. So at this point, I'll try just about anything. (I even spent one afternoon researching fertility-enhancing supplements like FertilAid; I was scared off by the negative reviews, but I wouldn't be surprised to find myself blogging about my personal experience with it in a couple months' time.)

It was really awesome timing to try the every-other-day thing in December, a dizzying month of trimming the tree, baking cookies, sending out cards, gift shopping and attending holiday parties. And this year, in addition to my annual holiday hallmarks, the to-do list is a bit longer than usual, including but not limited to the following items: participating in a tourism panel in Panama City Beach, planning and co-hosting a bridal shower and bachelorette party in Bradenton, and helping my sister- and brother-in-law move into their new house.

So, amid all that noise, we set out to fit in some whoopee every other day. Here's a breakdown of how it went.

12-1: Period is over; we have a Christmas date planned to the SPCA holiday party/fundraiser -- game on. Success!

12-3: We are invited for the first time to a holiday party at the house of our wealthy, plugged-in neighbors. I'm intimidated, but I figure it'll be an adrenaline rush to mix with their cultured friends, and once we get home, things will flow from there. That is not how the day goes. I botch the cheesy artichoke triangles I attempt to make; we rush to find a replacement hors d'oeuvre at the grocery store, where I have a total insecurity meltdown; Philip is initially patient but finally reaches his threshold with my deflated attitude; an argument ensues; we don't go to the party; we are lucky we end up in the same bed for a restless night of sleep. Fail.

12-5: We are supposed to have Bible study, but I make an executive decision that getting back on the sex train is a higher priority. We skip and have a very nice night of making up. Success!

12-7: My flight to Panama City Beach leaves at 3:50 p.m. We plan for Philip to come home for a little afternoon delight before taking me to the airport. Success again! We're on a roll!

12-9: I fly from Panama City Beach into Tampa, because I'm attending a bridal shower in Bradenton in the morning. Philip makes the drive over to pick me up from the airport; we've planned to rendezvous at a Courtyard Marriott for the night. When I arrive at 7:30 p.m., we're both tired and hungry, and we don't have a plan (dinner first? check in to the hotel first?). We're bickering before we've even left the airport. The evening continues to deteriorate from there. By the time we go to bed, we're able to civilly watch cable TV together, but ain't no sex gonna happen tonight. Fail.

12-10: Today is supposed to be an off-day, but time is now of the essence, so get up on your horse, cowboy. We cram in a quickie before I have to be at the shower at 10 a.m. Success!

12-11: I have just successfully helped pull off a bridal shower and bachelorette party in the same day. After getting five hours of sleep, vomiting in the toilet, and taking a miserable two-hour car ride back to Orlando, I finally arrive home, where the only thing I can think about is a shower, my pajamas, and a nap. I sleep for four hours and still feel hungover when I wake up. Philip has also just endured a marathon bachelor day at Epcot, and we're not only tired of having sex, we're just TIRED. I decide to take an ovulation test; if there's no smiley face, there's no chance in hell we're going to do it. But alas. There's that happy little face, taunting me. What ensues has to be similar to what it would be like if two paralyzed people tried to consummate their love. Success. Five hours later, Philip gets up to catch his flight to Tucson, where he'll be on a work trip for the next three days. If no baby was made, people, it was NOT for lack of effort.

Merry Christmas and happy New Year!

ANNA MARIA ISLAND

Though our getaway to Anna Maria Island wasn't fruitful in the baby-making sense, Philip and I had a wonderful weekend connecting. It pretty much requires us leaving town in order to carve out time for recreation and relaxation. Here are some photos from our excursion.

Abbi doesn't want us to go ... Or maybe she wants to come with. Sorry, Sweetie, Mom and Dad don't need any distractions, even really cute, furry ones.

The first full day, it was pretty chilly, so we rented bikes and cycled around Robinson Nature Preserve, which was gorgeous -- we saw loads of tropical birds, a snake, mangroves, and lots of fish in the estuaries.

Here's me at our lunch spot on the waterfront.

The preserve also has a really cool lookout tower that affords a bird's-eye view of the bay. This is a photo taken from the top.

One of our favorite things about the Gulf is the beautiful sunset, so we made sure to watch every night. Our rental house was only 100 steps from the beach, which made it easy. We walked this little path to access the beach.

The second day was warmer, so we relaxed on the sand with a couple of books to read. We really had the best time. With all of our responsibilities far away in Orlando, we were free to focus on each other, which made our baby-making attempts frequent, natural and intimate. I wish we could go away every month during ovulation!

I have to admit, my hopes were pretty high that this break from the norm was all we needed. Not so. As we enter month eight of trying, it's hard to remain hopeful; clearly I'm no Fertile Myrtle. But it's still a blessing to be able to enjoy little trips like this and to spend time in the wonder of creation.

PARENTHOOD

In a successful attempt to cheer me recently, my friend Melissa rapped about all the "bummers" of parenthood. I enjoyed her tongue-in-cheek comments so much, I asked her if I could share them with my readers. She gave me the green light, so here it is, for your reading pleasure!
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Preface
I absolutely love [my daughter] Claire, and I really would throw myself in front of a bus for her. It's like my friends Rebecca and Joel put on their first child's birth announcement: "We thought we knew love, and then came Stella." I've never forgotten that because it became so real to me when I had Claire. It's this crazy protective love that you didn't even know exists. And yes, children are totally a huge blessing ... but if I may ... and totally for your benefit I hope ...

 

Physical Health and Hygiene

I frequently go two months without shaving my legs or bikini line. Please note that I had a C-section and I was freshly shorn way north of my original bikini line for that surgery, so my current bikini line ... well ... it's a bit higher than it used to be.

 

Showers are for function, not fun (or fornication for that matter). There's simply not enough time.

 

Fixing my hair means I blow-dried it, brushed it and didn't pull it back in a ponytail, as opposed to letting it air-dry with half of it sitting on top of my head and then putting it in a ponytail later.

 

I don't exercise. Actually, I started running again in August in an attempt to lose 20 pounds (I never lost all the weight after having Claire). After a month of getting up at 6 a.m. to run and shower before Claire woke up, I lost a half-pound and people said, "Are you losing weight?" It must've been a really big half-pound.

 

My boobs are, as Holly puts it, deflated balloons. Totally saggy and squishy and never to be perky again. (They are one cup size bigger, but big whoop, ya know? That just means I had to go out and buy all new bras.)

 

I have little red bumps on the back of my arms that I have heard occur during pregnancy. They never go away.

 

Due to that relaxin hormone, my joints swelled/expanded, and my fingers are permanently bigger. I haven't worn my wedding ring since February 2010.

 

Sleep, as you know it, is gone.

 

Environment

I clean my house every 9-10 weeks. That's right. The clean neat freak from college has a filthy, pube-infested bathroom. It is rotten nasty and I've accepted it. You think you won't accept that that's the way it's going to be, but eventually, you do.

 

If you have any home-improvement projects in the works, get to workin', because it's near impossible to do so when you have kids.

 

Social/Relational

Jerry and I have not been on a date in three months. It seems like it would be so easy, but here's why it's not. There is a shortage of good babysitters; even girls from our church are not always as good as we hope they will be. Even if you have a good babysitter, it's nerve-wracking to leave your child with her because what if the baby starts wailing uncontrollably and the sitter can't get her calmed down, or what if the baby doesn't take a bottle for the sitter or go to sleep for the sitter ... ? Plus, you're just too tired.

 

We don't see our friends often. We just don't. No time. Plus, if they don't have kids, you have to get a babysitter to hang out with them if you're going out to dinner or doing an adults-only type thing.

 

I have time to check my e-mail only once or twice a week. Example: This e-mail right here that I'm typing is like eight days late.

 

I cancelled my Facebook account because I never had time to check it.

 

God

Stopped reading my Bible altogether and rarely pray. Now, however, I'm in Bible Study Fellowship, and I read a little bit almost every day. I go to the meetings on Monday evenings, and Jerry stays home with Claire. I'm learning a lot.

 

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Post Script

I wrote Melissa back to say, "I already don't do the following on a regular basis: shower, shave, exercise, do my hair, clean, go out, improve my house, respond to emails in a timely fashion, read my Bible ... So I'm really screwed when we finally do have kids!"

 

Her reply: "No Erika -- the fact that you don't do all those things is only going to make the transition easier. Trust me. It'll be like, 'Oh well, I didn't X, Y, Z before Petunia was born anyway.'"

 

INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE

Albert Einstein said, "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Every month, as I faithfully chart my cycle each day and pee on ovulation-predictor sticks, perfectly timing our conception efforts, I think of this quote. We keep doing the same exact thing, month after month, expecting that magically, this time, it will work.

Not surprisingly, once again, it did not work. You would think my high levels of hope followed by disappointment would begin to drop after six months of this pattern. With Einstein's quote in mind, my logical brain is fully expecting a period, not a pregnancy. Yet hope creeps into my heart, despite my best efforts to squash it. Doctors and Web articles don't help; they just say to keep trying, like Einstein didn't know what he was talking about. Try for a year. Sometimes it just takes a while. Up to 85 percent of couples trying to conceive will succeed within 12 months.

I like things to make sense though. (So weird, I know.) It doesn't make sense that if we keep just repeating these exact same steps, one of these times, it'll stick. There has to be something happening. Or not happening. What is it? How can I fix it?

Some people say, have sex more. Seems logical. Other people say, have sex less; you don't want to lower sperm counts. Thus, in the words of Liz Lemon, blerg.

Some people tell me, just relax. As soon as you stop thinking about it, it'll happen. Well, that's sort of true. I'm sure it would help my chances if I could just chill out. Stress can delay ovulation; it can make me feel like doing anything but have sex; and who knows what other physiological effects it may have. But at the same time, we've gotta time it right, and I won't know if we're timing it right unless I'm keeping track. And I simply don't know how to keep track without growing mildly obsessive.

So here's my plan for November. I'm getting out of Dodge. I'm taking Philip with me. For three nights, we're leaving behind work, responsibilities, fertility charts and OPKs. We're staying in a rental villa on an island in Florida, one that has a nice bed. We've timed the trip around my best guess at when I'll ovulate, but we're just going to be intimate when the mood strikes -- no happy faces, no thermometers, no carefully noting the consistency of my cervical fluid.

I just had to change it up this month; I was starting to feel insane.