Liars!

7 months of trying.

Peeing on ovulation sticks, hoping to be greeted by flashing smilies. Waiting for our rosters each month (hubby flies too) to see if we’d be in the same country when nature called.

Downloading apps. All sorts of vitamins. Calculating maximum swimmer survival days versus potential egg encounters. Visualising my fallopian tubes doing their thang and tuning into every twinge of pain or sign of ovulation.

I was obsessed.

Stories of our colleagues who couldn’t get pregnant daunted on us. Hearing that many finally did once they stopped flying. Wondering how long this will take us. Already fear mongered that maybe, our bodies wouldn’t be capable.

Then on one particular day, everything was perfect. Like clockwork. I just knew I was going to get pregnant. Even the smiley was smiling.

Everything I smelled in the following weeks was pregnant-level strong. I swear I even had phantom taste aversions. Driving myself mad, imagining each cramp was a sign of implantation.

But, negatron.

So I said fuck this. I didn’t want to see another digital fake smile or app. I realised they must have lied to us in sex-ed. Wondering how centuries of women before me got that 12 hour fertility window once a month just right.

I had to let go. 

Isn’t it weird how when you obsess over a desired outcome, it’s as though your subconscious doesn’t truly believe it can happen, or that you are deserving of it? You try so hard to make it work. Inadvertently pushing it away and out of your reach?

So I surrendered. And I got pregnant.

* I want to pause here to appreciate that for many women and couples, it goes deeper and is more complicated than this. I by no means intend to be insensitive, fully understanding that our journeys leading to pregnancy, birth, postpartum and beyond; are unique and extremely personal. This is just a telling of my story *

Talk soon x