***This is a sponsored post for Virtus Health and Digital Parents Collective***
A woman’s biological clock. Does it tick louder for some?
Mine was on constant snooze. I’d meet a guy, start to get tingly feelings matched with contented sighs of, “Ooooh, I’ve met ‘The One’!”
Only to have my heart splattered in a million pieces.
While I went through relationships like a pair of cheap stockings, not once did I worry about fertility. I didn’t have to because I just kept hooking up with douchebags, anyway.
Then, at the ripe age of 33, I met Surfer Boyfriend. Blonde, blue eyes, broad swimmer’s shoulders and sunkissed from all that time in the surf, it wasn’t hard to find him even a tad cute.
As for husband/father material? Not quite there yet.
What followed was a bumpy, yet slowly progressive ride to commitment. I’d make demands, we’d almost break up. Then we’d take one huge step forward (moving in together)
A couple years later, I’d start to nag again (who said only wives have that right?), packing my bags threatening to leave, which then resulted in buying a home.
By this stage, I was 37. No longer a spring chicken with a very tired finger still on the snooze button.
Speaking from personal experience, when men eventually decide to settle down, the transition is at lightening speed.
Miranda on Sex and the City nails it when she likens men to taxis: “You gotta get ‘em when their lights are on.”
As soon as Mr Surfer’s light went on, he wanted it ALL. STAT.
I had been off the pill for six months and while we were regularly doing the horizontal hustle, not a positive sign was in sight.
My darling future husband didn’t automatically assume that the problem was on my end and instead booked in to get his swimmers checked.
I spat coffee at my work computer screen reading his text that delightfully told me:
“All good, babe! I have triple A rating sperm!”
Through a friend’s recommendation, we went to a naturopath who prescribed us both with disgusting herbal concoctions to drink daily.
It was hippy la-la all the way.
We even had a little baby moon calendar, making up our own little symbols for “ovulating”, “menstruating” and of course, when we had some bow chica bow wow.
All that love making always concluded with me stark naked, legs straight up, in perfect V formation, making sure those little spermies only swam one way.
Back in the 60’s you had a smoke after sex. We drew pretty love hearts. Or performed bedroom gymnastics.
All those sexually active years worrying about unwanted pregnancies. Ironically, there was nothing to worry about.
Knowing that almost killed me inside.
At an appointment with a fertility specialist, speaking of my concerns being pregnant during our wedding and whether I could wait until afterwards, our doctor held no bars.
“You’re not getting any younger, Grace,” she flatly said.
So, we kept trying and trying and trying.
Even the naughty minx in me was sick of all that sex. (I know!!!)
Almost six months before our wedding, a blood test confirmed my pregnancy.
The dressmaker wasn’t too happy about having to make alterations to my wedding dress but who was I to even care?
Friends asked why I didn’t wait until after the wedding to fall pregnant. Was I okay walking down the aisle 25 weeks knocked up?
The “inconvenience” of a shot gun wedding doesn’t even come close to the dreaded fear of infertility.
There are some things in life you don’t have any control over.
Fertility, I discovered, is one of them.
If you’re trying to fall pregnant, and it’s not happening as quickly as you’d expected, get some tips from the experts in fertility, IVF Australia. Visit http://ivf.com.au/contraception-to-conception
Joining Essentially Jess for #IBOT