I’m starting to get why God invented sex. Being honest, I’ve had reservations in the past. This is despite some sterling efforts on my mum’s part to get me to loosen up, (handcuffs, chocolate body paint and wedding night wisdom that still brings me out in a cold sweat). Sorry Mum: I like big pants and I cannot lie. Even brief nudity is too much. And as for talking about bodily bits – well, cross the rubicon of ‘front bottom’ and I’m Done.
This said, when your reproductive bits aren’t doing what they oughta, you start to appreciate the genius of the marital bed. It does not require:
talking through your sex life with complete strangers
taking your body temperature/waiting for the moon/crunching folic acid and drinking dairy like your life depends on it
nasal sprays to make your hormones die
lady flavour injections to bring your hormones back to life (a joyful occasion for all concerned)
swabs and smears and poking and joking and crying and trying to look like you can see what they can see on the screen (Kidney? Womb? Dinosaur arm? I give up)
NO WINE when you’d really like a large Merlot
One more sodding avocado (because Jenny’s friend Moira read somewhere that green pear-shaped things have like, magical properties)
A process that could take weeks or months and then, if everything goes to plan..
shaking a test-tube to the strains of Barry White.
Waiting and hoping and not being able to do anything except hiss ‘swim my beauties, swim for your life’.
And most of all, remaining calm BECAUSE STRESS MAKES YOU LESS FERTILE YOU KNOW.
…I probably won’t post about this again for a while as it’s an ongoing process. Prayers appreciated, but for the moment at least, no questions – bit too full of emotions/avocados.