Photo courtesy of julianol
I am surrounded by friends who are mostly challenged with conceiving children. But not me. We always joke about how extremely fertile I am that just by mere holding hands with my husband, I would likely get pregnant. I truly am fortunate to have a very welcoming uterus that has brought me two wonderful sons that surely trying for another baby will be a cinch.
Boy was I wrong. I am no longer in my twenties, I know. But I never thought that “trying” to conceive would become a chore. Thinking back, I don’t recall ever thinking too hard about making a baby. It really takes the romance out of lovemaking and totally ruins it. Now I understand how stressful it is for my friends. We have only been at it for a couple of months and its already having a depressing effect on me.
I don’t want to be counting days, marking my calendar, watching for signs, taking temperature, and saying let’s go, let’s not. I am longing for those good old days when the best way to make a baby was to relax and lovingly enjoy each other or maybe exhaust each other in a night of passionate lovemaking (oh yeah that came out straight of a Mills and Boon paperback). But we do want another child. And until it becomes too risky for me, we keep trying. Right sweetie? C’mon love, its time to go. 
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