When Mike and I decided to have a baby, we actually got out our day planners to figure out when would be the best time. I know, I know, I'm sure that last sentence is the punchline to some yuppy joke somewhere.
But in reality, I wanted Jude to be at home with either mom or dad for at least a full year and I was gonna make it happen, damn it. So finding the window where my maternity leave left off and my husband wasn't doing a graduate school internship became really important to me.
Once the date was picked, we knew we had to get the timing right. We were putting all my eggs (literally) in one basket.
I started taking my temperature twice a day to learn my body's rhythm. All these years, I naively thought the rhythm method of birth control had something to do with a man's ability to keep a beat. It really has to do with a women's ability to take good notes.
In addition to my charting, I bought those ovulation predictor sticks at the drugstore for good measure. After 3 months of peeing on sticks, I swore I could feel my eggs move into my fallopian tubes. I was ready when primetime came.
I'm not normally a person that sets myself up for such a big fall if things don't go according to plan, so I was apprehensive about how I would react if nature didn't line up behind me. As we all know, the best laid plans of eggs and women often go awry. Fortunately for me, the universe and I were on the same page and I got knocked up right on schedule.
It might have been handy to have the nifty OV-Watch when we were planning. It detects chloride ions on your skin that surge when you ovulate. Gives new meaning to having a cycle you could set your watch by.
