The Laws of Procreation

Three years of marriage and a two year old daughter later, we were delighted to find that, even though we were totally broke and still working to get life in order, we were having another child. A boy this time! He was born in May, right when our A/C decided to stop working and temperatures rose to the 80s and 90s. Ah yes, you are never more fertile than when the money runs out.

The start of a great career for my husband, a 4 year old daughter, a 1 year old son, a house that belonged to us, and 5 years of marriage later, we decided we were in the perfect position to plan our third, and final, baby. We just knew that all it would take was one magical drink from the same cup and we'd be knocked up again. Ah, you are never less fertile than when you are totally, completely, disgustingly prepared to have a baby.

Month after month passed by and I began to convince myself that even if I were indeed pregnant, there was something malformed with the chemical makeup of my urine and it would never make two lines appear on a pregnancy test. I started experimenting with all of the things I always thought were nonsense to try to get a bun in the oven. I read to hold your legs up after sex to keep the sperm inside longer.... though this provided fantastic entertainment for my dear other half, it did not produce reproduction.

I did the charts that require you to take your temperature and track that, with an entire range of "mucus" your body excretes to prepare for ovulation, to determine when that little egg would be released. I then convinced myself that my thermometer was indeed in need of a new battery, for it never showed the correct temperature variables to give me a big cross to indicate ovulation. "Stupid charts..."

Finally I took a trip to my OB/GYN and via ultrasound learned that my ovaries, indeed, hated me. I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. "Well, that's delightful," I thought. A surgery to drain those suckers and I just knew that we were on our way to morning sickness heaven! Again, I was incorrect.

Medications followed. Pre-fertility medication, I was blissfully unaware that you could gain seven pounds in one month, and that you could go from a seemingly normal woman to a raging lunatic in 2.5 seconds. "It will all be worth it," I convinced my husband as I demanded timed intercourse so not to let the hell I'd gone through that month go to waste.

I realized in the midst of my fertility struggle, that certain people end up pregnant easily, and certain people do not. Teenagers are possibly the most freakishly fertile things on the planet. I know, I was one of them. Their fertility is only rivaled by drug addicts. People that only like 2 out of their 6 children are a close third place in the fertile mertyle race. These realizations made me question our decision to go ahead and purchase the new van we knew we would "need" once baby number three made his or her arrival. "Maybe we should trade it in for a Corvette?" I questioned my husband.

"Maybe if we totally drop our maternity coverage, I'll end up preggers!" I had seen me get pregnant twice before without it... was that the secret?

"I guarantee that if we move back into our rent house, with no A/C, I'll be with child in NO TIME!" I could not get my dear hubby to agree to any of these fine suggestions. Was he unaware of the results of the fertility race? We were just too ready for a baby. We were doomed!

Finally, after a journey full of questions, drama, disappointment, and the most boring sex I hope I'll ever have in my life, we were granted our wish. Procreation happened!! (Even though we did keep the maternity insurance.) We were blessed with a curly-headed, blue-eyed little boy.

I was right, he was worth it. He was worth all of the pain, weight gain, money, and man-on-top because "that's the best way" sex. I am relatively sure that we will end up pregnant again with complete ease considering that we both agree that we are officially done having babies.