It has never been an issue for my husband and I on whether or not we’d have children. We both love and wanted kids someday (note the ironic foreshadowing on “someday”) throughout our dating days, we’d often discuss the future (more ironic foreshadowing) when we’d be parents. My mother warned me, (God bless her) that we Anderson women come from a long line of easy breeders. God knows my mom merely had to use the same toothbrush as my dad and she’d end up with a youngin’. And so, before the wedding, she told a bright-eyed and bushy tailed me to wait a little and enjoy married life.
Now, forgive me for my naivety here, but I assumed The Miracle of Conception was a little more finicky than it really is. In my simple little mind I had envisioned thermometers and timings and calendars with circles and exclamation marks on them. A couple of months before my wedding I went off the pill, bought a bottle of multi-vitamins with folic acid and saw to it that my body was in tip-top baby-making shape. That said, I also saw my GP and informed her of our plans of trying (or, rather, not hindering). Her response was this, and I quote, 'You've been on the pill for quite sometime now, don't be too worried if you haven't conceived in six or seven months.'
Ha! Hahahaha.
Let me tell you, friends, my uterus is a very friendly place. As it turns out, for the last week of our honeymoon my poor husband had to put up with a tired, bitchy, libido-less and hormonally out-of-whack wife. I was on that delivery table exactly 9 months after my dad walked me down that aisle. Trying for a baby? Trying!? There was no 'trying' involved.
No comments:
Post a Comment