Two Good Eggs

Two cracked eggs find the sunnyside (and funny side) of trying to conceive

Defective.

on September 7, 2012

“I feel like a defective typewriter!”

I’m a pop-culture trivia buff.  I regularly cite movie quotes and song lyrics in daily conversation (and will pass judgment if you can’t recognize my reference immediately).   Since we’re just getting to know each other, I’ll give you the first one for free — especially since Sunnyside scooped my reference to this classic movie in her previous post.

In “Grease”, Rizzo barks that comment to Marty in the drive-in bathroom in reference to skipping a period (and thus thinking that Kenickie knocked her up).

Over the past year, I have used that line more times than I can count. Unfortunately, it wasn’t because I skipped my period.  It was because I got it.  Sometimes at 25 days.  Sometimes at 36 days.  And the defective cycle was because I was a defective ovulator – Day 15.  Day 19.  Day 24.  Day 40.   Being a defective ovulator makes the baby-making process defective.  PS – there is no need to try to talk me out of my tree and tell me I’m not defective.  I’ve come to terms with what it means.

In the TTC world, defective merely means that baby-making becomes less about booty-shaking and more about fluid-handling.

It means your bathroom, once an HGTV-inspired DIY masterpiece, becomes a home base for your conception lab.  Your window sill houses daily urine samples in plastic cups.  Your face lotion and razors make way for OPKs and fertility monitors in your medicine cabinet.  Your toothbrush now shares its space with your BBT thermometer. Before you even turn on the shower, or possibly wish your DH a good morning (lest you raise your temperature by merely speaking), you’ve conducted at least three experiments to determine if the subject is “ready”.

I’ve spent hours in my Baby Lab, only to be disappointed and hurt at my failed experiments.  Turns out, I’m not a scientist.  Or an “Alternate Reproductive Treatment” (ART) specialist.  I’ve self-diagnosed and conducted enough failed experiments.  I’m turning this experiment over to a bigger lab, where this process will be even less about booty-shaking and more about sperm-washing. Presumably, this lab will be a little more upscale, without a husband manscaping three feet away or a dog scratching at the door.

At first, I thought going to see ART would reiterate just how defective I am.  But today I realized that it actually demonstrates my willingness to do anything possible to create an environment in which my next baby can grow and thrive and be amazing.  So, I guess I’m just being a mom.

So, maybe I am like a defective typewriter.  But, that’s ok.  Maybe ART can help me fix a few of those sticking keys so I can finish this chapter (and maybe allow me to chill out a little in the process).  Perhaps I can finally enjoy a nice long bubble bath without basking in the aroma of Eau de Toilet steeping on the windowsill.

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