Sex
Hot sweaty bodies, glued together in a fit of passion and ravenous greed. Candlelight. Soft music. Silk sheets. When we read about love-making in novels or watch erotica in the movies, fixated on the screen, the scenes that hold us mesmerized almost always depict sex the way we want it to be – a glimpse into our fantasies, rather than what really is. And while some relationships might actually start out like the one between Anastasia Steele and Christian Grey in Fifty Shades of Grey, the intensity of passion often fizzles soon enough as certain realities come into play. If there’s one thing that can quickly put the breaks on romance, it’s the issue of fertility. And it really doesn’t matter if you’re afraid of getting pregnant, or trying desperately to conceive, the problem is still the same – like wet fingers pinching out the life of a burning candle wick, the looming question of whether or not this sensual event will end in conception has a way of completely dampening the mood.
Let’s start by looking at the effort to have a baby – or ttc (“trying to conceive” in the online community). It starts out innocently enough. A man and woman decide that they love each other and want to have a baby. They start by saying things like, “Hey, if it happens right away, great! If it takes a while, at least we’ll have fun trying!” They chuckle innocently at the thought, kiss, and set off on their merry way to making a baby. But inconvenient schedules, and life get in the way, and soon enough they find themselves on the ttc roller coaster. Eventually foreplay is replaced with logical conversations about why each moment in time is or is not an optimal time for sex. The focus has shifted from sexy lingerie and nibbling on each other’s ears to a driving need to procreate. The woman joins fertility support chat rooms and designs cute little siggies[1] that indicate her yearning for a baby. She learns the text-talk lingo for talking about things related to the process: dh (“dear husband”); 2ww (“two week wait” – the miserably long period after suspected ovulation and before an accurate pregnancy test can be done), bd (“baby dance” or having sex for the singular purpose of making a baby, which is often found in a similar context with the next one…) POAS (“pee on a stick”, which can be used when talking about the pee test for pregnancy, or the test for ovulation). Personally, I think the best one (and the poster-child for abbreviations in the first place) is EWCM (“egg white cervical mucous” which can be a key indicator of peak fertility).
It often starts out with the woman more engaged in the ttc process, but eventually the husband jumps (or is dragged) on board. Just the other day, one of the male teachers at my school proudly announced to me and two other coworkers (one male, one female), that he and his wife “did one during O” (O meaning ovulation). This couple is a classic example of how life can interfere with fertility plans – she spends the majority of each week on another island fervidly working away, focused on thesis papers and analytical dialogue as she struggles to complete her graduate program, while he stays here on this lonely isle, tending to the home front when not counting down the hours in his classroom. For them, prime bd time is usually when they’re separated by one-hundred-plus miles of shark-infected waters. My female counterpart and I begin to chuckle just as the other male in the room asks what our willing-to-tell-all associate is talking about – he is quite obviously clueless and couldn’t tell cp from cm[2] if his life depended on it. The hopeful dad-to-be explains that O is short for ovulation and that he and his wife managed to engage in coitus during her peak fertile period – Yes kids, this is what we teachers talk about in the break room when we’re not in class with you. Of course this explanation had to be followed up by another innocent question, “But how did you know?” – Duh, she POAS! explains our lusty pal, and we gals giggle.
But don’t think that ttc’ers get to have all the fun. Trying to prevent pregnancy can be equally amusing. Take for example the young pimply-faced, freshly crew-cut teen trying to put on a condom in the back seat of a car for the first time. Ok, truth be told, he’s probably practiced a dozen or more times alone in his bedroom at home, but there’s no way those practice sessions can really prepare him for the real-world pressure of a dark back seat with the palpable tension of first-time fornication. Guaranteed something will rip, slip, drop or ooze inappropriately.
And teens aren’t the only ones who struggle with contraception woes. Back at a time when I was newly married to my first husband, and not quite ready to add a baby to the mix, I decided to look into non-hormonal birth control methods other than condoms. A midwife friend of mine suggested the diaphragm. “But”, she warned, “You have to have a sense of humor to use one.” Why in the world, I wondered, would I need to have a sense of humor to use birth control? I certainly hadn’t found anything funny about taking the pill. Of course my question was answered quickly enough – the first time I tried to use it. I pulled it out of it’s nice domed home, and studied it. I played with the spring to get the feel for it, and lubed it up as instructed – Ping! That thing shot clear across the room like a bullet. So much for romance. Who the heck thought it would be a good idea to design a spring-loaded device that required lubrication to function properly and put it in the hands of young, animalistic beings who are prone to throw caution to the wind when caught up in the steamy act of lovemaking? The device seems more of an April Fool’s joke than a medical device designed to facilitate responsible birth control for young lovers.
I decided to do a little research to learn the identity of the masochistic inventor of this contraption – I figured he must have really liked things wild in the bedroom and would have loved to find a picture of this sexual being. What I learned, thanks to the second edition of Fertility Control, is that Dr. C. Hasse, a German professor, is credited with the invention in 1882. I also learned that he produced his research under a pseudonym, Wilhelm Mensinga, to protect his reputation (211). A staunchy German professor. What a let down.
Fortunately for me, now well into my second marriage, and physically exhausted from four young kids, I was able to convince my loving husband to take care of this fertility issue once and for all. And it only took fourteen months of prodding, begging, and cajoling. We’re now at that tender stage where he has to get the all-clear from the doctor, but once that happens, I’m sure we’re well on our way raucous, uninhibited lovemaking at any hour of the day or night. Just after we find ourselves a good babysitter.
[1] Siggie – An image, link or text under posts on forums. Also called siggy. UrbanDictionary.com
[2] cp is short for “cervical position”, and cm is short for “cervical mucous”
References:
Corson, Stephen L., Reichard Derman, and Louise B. Tyrer. Fertility Control. 2nd ed. Boston: Little, Brown, 1985. Print
James, E.L. Fifty Shades of Grey. N.p.: Vintage, 2012. Print.
