It all started with a pot

Ok, a slightly misleading title I feel, as it all started well before the pot, but I suppose this is the “official” start of our potential IVF journey.

Allow myself to introduce… myself.

(Warning: I make many 90s pop culture references)

I am 37 years old (with my tiptoes dipping into 38) and have been trying for a baby with my husband for about 2 years, without success. We have been married for 8 years but for various reasons (which I won’t delve into here) had to put off starting a family. With a historically pretty fertile family (including 2 sisters who had abortions) I thought I’d get knocked up straight away. Turns out, life doesn’t really go that way. I have tried literally everything short of actual IVF. From the ridiculously expensive vitamins…

(Check out those percentages!)

… to the hideously-named “fertility lubricant“, via Femometers and this revolting thing:

(Whatever you think it’s for, you’re correct)

I decided to actually get medical intervention.

Visits to the GP were generally fruitless - my hormone levels were all pretty much spot-on but my BMI was deemed too night to qualify for any further help from the NHS (fat women don’t deserve children), so we just kept trying. And trying. And trying.

Foreplay was reduced to me shouting “I’m ovulating! We have to have SEX!!!” and every month, right on time, Aunt Flo would show up with a cheerful wave and a “cooee!”. As I already have a history of depression and anxiety, I made the decision that, if I wanted a baby, I’d have to pay for it.

I signed up for a private ultrasound and AMH check, only to discover…

… bugger all. It turns out that my insides are all good. My AMH levels are at the lower end but, apart from that, I’m as fertile as a very fertile thing.

So, to the next step. It’s time for Husband to step up. A sperm test he took 2 years ago was all good, but I’m told a lot can change in 2 years. I called the clinic and booked him in for a semen analysis.

“Make sure he’s abstinent for 2-7 days beforehand,” said the girl on the phone. No problem, I thought. It had been about a week since we‘d ”done it” (I’m a bit of a prude) so I assumed he could just abstain a bit longer. I picked up the pot a few days ago and read this:

(FUUUUUCK!)

When Husband got home, he was greeted by a manic wife, screaming ”We have to have sex or you have to have a wank! But it has to be before Sunday morning. It’s really important!”

The baby dance was done in time so we could breathe a sigh of relief. If you have any doubt that making a baby is romantic, check out this post-coital exchange:

Him: Are you fertile today?

Me: No, but that’s not really the point, is it?

Sexy AF.

All that done, tomorrow I have the challenge of transporting the ‘sample’ to the clinic within the strict time limit, keeping it at body temperature the whole time. I’ve read that cleavage is a good place for the pot. Fingers crossed!