Humor Parenting

7 Things I Never Needed to Know about Trying to Get Pregnant

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Let me begin by saying thank you to Mrs. Sammich for letting me post on her blog. I feel the need to thank her not only because she is a brilliant mama blogger who is letting me stink up her space with my venting about my journey to future mamahood, but also because this post could lead some to think that she’s trying for mini-sammich #4, which she is not (I don’t think). I’m posting this here (and anonymously) because if my mother-in-law somehow learned that we were “trying,” she’d be all up in my grill (and by grill, I mean vagina — she’s an OB-GYN).

But if any of Mrs. Sammich’s lovely readers out there ARE trying to get pregnant, I can provide a few meaningless bits of wisdom about this process, because in the last four months of trying (and so far, failing) to get knockedthefuckup, I’ve learned some shit.

Did you know that you can’t just have lots of sex and eventually end up pregnant?! That was sort of how I thought this worked. Wanna procreate? Have the sex. Make the babies. Not so much, people. That’s just the brainwashy BS your health teacher wanted you to think. No, it takes much more than that to create your very own hellspawn. Here are 7 examples of things you don’t actually need to know to get pregnant, but you might as well know anyway in case it helps (which it won’t).

1. “Not not trying” is so NOT a thing.

In part because I was under the (WRONG) impression that all I needed to do to get pregnant was (gasp!) have sex with my husband, I spent about three months not trying, but also not not trying. Many of us go through a period of “not not trying” before realizing that we actually wanted to be pregnant like, yesterday, and three months have gone by, and why aren’t we accidentally pregnant already?! Just own up to the baby fever, ladies, and drop the double-negative, because if English class taught you anything, it should’ve taught you that “not not trying” means you’re fucking trying.

2. There is a thing called “cervical mucus,” and I’m supposed to analyze it.

The four options my app gives me (hold onto your panties, I’m getting to the app in a sec) are “watery,” “eggwhite,” “creamy,” and “sticky.” STICKY?! Gross, random fertility app. Just… gross. When I started “analyzing my cervical mucus,” I wasn’t sure how to distinguish between the different types, so I googled it. I’m not gonna lie, there were pictures.

3. There’s an app for that.

Multiple, actually. My personal favorite fertility app at the moment is Kindara. That’s where I learned about cervical mucus. I blame Kindara for my new aversion to eggwhites (or maybe I’m pregnant?!).



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4. Two weeks is actually an eternity wrapped in forever wrapped in infinity times a million.

I’m specifically talking about the two weeks between when I supposedly ovulated and when I’m supposed to start my period (read: when I can take a pregnancy test). And sometimes this is more like three weeks or two months, because I have a disturbingly irregular cycle. And only the powers that be know when or whether I actually ovulated, because according to my app and my super-fancy fertility thermometer, consistency is not something my uterus is good at.

5. There is a right way and a wrong way to pee on a stick.

You’re supposed to hold that sucker under there for five seconds. I don’t know if you’ve ever counted while you pee (because why for fuck’s sake would anyone ever do that?!) but that’s actually a fair amount of time, so make sure you’ve got a good bit of pee ready to go. But don’t drink too much water beforehand, because you might dilute the hormones in your pee. I’ve seriously never thought about pee this much in my life.

6. There is a right way and a wrong way to take one’s temperature.

When I learned my temp was supposed to go up when I ovulated, I bought a thermometer (no, I didn’t have one in the house before, and yes, I know that speaks to just how much I am NOT A MOM right now, thanks). But I bought the wrong kind, because apparently there’s a special “I’m trying to get knocked up” thermometer, so then I bought one of those. There was a chart explaining where I should put the thermometer, as well as directions about when I should take my temperature: in the morning, before I even get up to pee (maybe on a stick).

7. The caffeine is harder to give up than the booze.

Because I might be pregnant (but likely am not), I am also trying to lay off the potentially harmful shit and take in the potentially beneficial shit. This means I am no longer drinking a pot of coffee in the morning and a bottle of wine at night. I thought the wine would be tough. Turns out I’m a raging bitch on anything less than two cups a joe. I found a coffee place that makes good decaf. My co-workers don’t even begin to understand how grateful they should be.

One of these months I’ll (hopefully) be blessed with two little lines on one of my many peesticks. Until then, I’m sure I’ll keep learning about weird shit I should eat or strange things I should do after sex to help me get pregnant (Someone actually told me to do handstands. Um, no. I’d like to live to raise my progeny, thanks).

What should this future mama know that I haven’t learned already, ladies? Do tell!