The Second Line

Watch the clock. Check your calendar. Take a deep sigh. Keep yourself busy: text some friends, walk the dog, watch a show, read a book, play a game. Watch the clock again. Check your fertility app. Check it again. Confirm the days by counting on your fingers. Remind yourself not to Google anything. Google it anyway. Take another deep sigh. Repeat.  Welcome to what is colloquially known as the "two week wait," that miserable, hopeful two weeks between ovulation and when you can pee on a stick (or when your period will be arriving, if you're more of a "pee cup half empty" kind of gal). When you want to be pregnant, you both live for and loathe these two weeks. It's the lead up to what could be the moment you've been breathlessly waiting for, but it's also 14-ish creeping days wherein all productive brain space is monopolized by thoughts of what your body might be doing right at that moment  and then metathought reminders to not to drive yourself crazy

I've been thinking lately about how the path toward getting pregnant for us seems a lot like driving in dense fog toward a destination we've never visited. We know where we want to end up, but we have no idea what we're about to encounter along the way or how long we'll drive before we get there.  We're seven and a half months (or eight cycles) into this thing and about $300 out of pocket, which feels like forever and a lot to me, but is a drop in the bucket compared to some folks' fertility investment (in money, time, and  emotional energy). When I sat in waiting room at my OB/GYN's office this week, in some cruel twist of fate, I watched not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR women in various stages of pregnancy stop by the front desk to cheerily schedule or check-in for their ultrasound appointments. The one other woman in the waiting room with me that didn't appear to be pregnant, and whom I silently adopted to be my seething partner-in-misery, w

I should be grading today. In fact, my school laptop gaped at me in shock and disgust as I reached for my personal MacBook to begin this post. But something has been on my mind this weekend, that Mr. Rogers quote that reappears in the media every so often, especially in the wake of some time of tragedy or despair: "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." I keep thinking about this quote because I keep thinking about all of the people who have shown up recently as "helpers" in my own life and how grateful I am for their appearance.  You see, I am not someone who asks for help. In fact, I do everything possible to make it seem as though I do not need help and instead make myself available to help others. If I had to choose an animal that best fits my personality, I would love to say something cool and majestic like a lioness, but in reality it's the duck. I am gliding across the water on the surface, but paddling furiously underneath. (

One thing I promised myself I would do with this blog, despite my preference for introversion and privacy, is share the steps of our fertility process. Not the sex, ya creeps, you gotta check my OnlyFans page for that. KIDDING! (And please don't look that up, Mom & Dad.) Anyway, something I've found lacking in my expert-level Googling is a clear, layman's description of this early part of the fertility process and what it all means. Yes, I've found plenty of medical webpages describing much of it, but even those leave a lot to the anxiety-riddled imagination. So for anyone who finds themselves in those first moments of realizing they may need medical intervention to make a béb é  or for anyone who is trying to conceive and wondering what comes next if it doesn't happen, this post is for you.  Of course, there's a disclaimer: I'm not a doctor or nurse, and these are my own experiences. You should obviously follow the advice of your physician, as your heal

Ya'll. The idea for this post has been burnin' a hole in my proverbial pocket since before I even decided to start a blog. Much like my Southern lady role model, Clairee Belcher, "if you don't have have anything nice to say about anybody, come sit by me!"  So in the spirit of Clairee and my other personal silver-haired patron saints of sass, Dorothy Zbornak and Sophia Petrillo, pull up a chair on my lanai and treat yourself to a slice of cheesecake or three while I rant about something that's been stuck in my craw since the first moment I fell down the pregnancy and fertility internet rabbit hole.  Unpopular opinion: I loathe reading fertility community message boards. Now don't get me wrong; I do  love the general sense of positivity and supportive community you find there. I also really love that all of these women have found each other and act as a source of (sometimes misguided) advice and information around a topic that seems to be spoken about in whi

Time is a funny thing. In the weeks when I am waiting for a period or a positive pregnancy test, the days, minutes, even seconds, seem to crawl by "as slow as molasses in the winter" as a friend used to say. On the other hand, I can't believe it's already been seven months of trying to get pregnant. I feel like I just got used to the idea, after decades of trying my damndest to not  get pregnant, that my husband and I are actually trying to have a baby on purpose. So it feels entirely surreal that this week  I had to call my doctor to make a fertility evaluation appointment. Because I'm an "older" [insert clenched jaw and eyeroll here] patient, I'm told that it could take years to get pregnant. But for the same reason, we're also advised to waste no time making this fertility evaluation appointment. Just typing those words - "fertility evaluation" - feels like a mistake or like I'm writing about someone else. I hesitate before strik