Failure

Dear Diary,

My quest for sperm domination has failed.

Bugger.

What now?

Tantric Massage - Take 1

Dear Diary,

I'm thinking that maybe massage oil and eastern sexual practices should never be put together.

I bought a book about tantric massage, and decided to give it a go. John was happy to get involved. Of course.

So... I oiled up, checked the book, knelt above John's head and with both hands, maintaining an even pressure, leant forward and lightly but firmly stroked from his shoulders down to his buttocks.

Problem: The book didn't mention how I should keep my balance. My hands got to his bum, the rest of me was hopelessly overbalanced, and the massage oil gave me no traction whatsoever. All of a sudden my hands went up in the air, I fell forward, and ended up with my face plastered in John's buttocks and my pubic bone connected with the back of John's head. Ewww and owww.

John doesn't want any more massages.

Genius

Dear Diary,

I'm a genius.

I have a plan!

Tantric sex.

This wonderful creation can cure both problems at once. Raise John's self-confidence and take control of his unruly sperm (shy sperm?) without them suspecting a thing (the sperm, that is). They're going to be dancing to my tune now.

All I need to do is start when I'm not fertile, so John doesn't think it's a ploy. Which it is. It's important that he think it's not, though.

Men!

Fixing the Fake

Dear Diary,

Problem: A man who's jealous of his own sperm, and has no control over them.

Solution: Raise the man's self-esteem, and take control over his sperm.

Oh no, I sound like I have a miniature Napoleonic complex!

Fraud

Dear Diary,

I'm in shock.

John and I talked about the whole 'too tired' thing.

He said he'd been feeling guilty.

I asked, "what about?"

He said that he'd been faking orgasms. He said he'd been too embarrassed to say anything, and then didn't want me to think he was stressed about having kids, but the pressure's just really huge, and he isn't coping well. But he's been trying really hard, etc, etc.

Faking... do men DO that? I thought it was a female thing!

So... how do I get pregnant with a man who's jealous of his own sperm and having trouble getting them to do what he wants?

Tired

Dear Diary,

Oh, for crying out loud!

All the sex has worn John out. I should've known. Men whinge that they don't get enough sex, but when they do, they can't cope.

GRRRRRRRR.

(it's only been 4 days)

Another Month

Dear Diary,

So, another month of weird sex and trying to make sure my husband doesn't feel jealous of his own sperm. I'm still wrestling with how to do that... do I just give in and have sex every day, whether I'm fertile or not? Maybe I should.

Acronyms

Dear Diary,

I heard two guys across the other side of the office mention 'CM' and thought to myself, "Why are they talking about Cervical Mucous?". I'm officially obsessed.

I hadn't realised just how many acronyms there are in the trying-to-get-pregnant culture until I started thinking about it. But it's almost as bad as IT. Worse. IT acronyms are, at worst, geeky. These acronyms can be downright weird and gross.

Here are some of my favourites:

AF: Aunt Flo. Also known as 'my period'. Characterised as an annoying old interfering biddy who's always turning up right when you don't want to see her.

BFN: Big Fat Negative (home pregnancy test result)

BFP: Big Fat Positive (see above)

EWCM: Egg-white cervical mucous. It feels like you're entering the twilight zone, the first time you unravel the acronyms and work out that a forum full of women are happily discussing the consistency and colour of the mucous in their privatest of private parts.

TTC: Trying To Conceive. Well, that's pretty straightforward.

TWW: Now this is the one that had me confused for months before I got up the courage to ask. Two Week Wait... the time between ovulation and when a woman's period is due, when she turns into a brooding, obsessive weirdo who spends much of her time in the bathroom peeing on little sticks and wailing.

CRUD

Dear Diary,

It's not implantation bleeding. Not unless there's a whole swarm of babies burrowing in there. I'm not pregnant.

I'm going nuts, aren't I? I'm turning into one of those psycho women who get so caught up in trying to conceive that they have imaginary pregnancies for months at a time.

Maybe I should just skip that stage and have an imaginary baby. Think about it! No dirty nappies, no interruptions you don't actually want, no stress over cleaning bottles or soothing bitten nipples.

That sounds great. I wonder if I can rope John in too.

Do you think we should get a pram for Imaginary Baby?

Maybe Not

Dear Diary,

I'm bleeding.

Crud.

Hey... it could be implantation bleeding, right? No need to give up yet.

Sore Boobs

Dear Diary,

I'm still feeling sick first thing in the morning, and my boobs hurt. I MUST be pregnant. WOOHOO!

Note to self: Don't poke boobs to check if they're still sore while standing in line at Coles. Other people in line get uncomfortable.

Nausea

Dear Diary,

I feel sick.

Maybe I'm pregnant!

Kid - maybe you were conceived last week!

Birthday

Dear Diary,

It's John's birthday in two weeks.

What do you buy for a man who's jealous of his own sperm?

All I can think of is - a condom.

Sperm Wars

Dear Diary,

Following on from last night's 'two week dry' comment...

John feels as though I only want him for his sperm.

Uh-huh. I bit my tongue, then gently asked him to explain.

He said that I only seem to want to have sex when I'm fertile.

I commented that before we decided to get pregnant, we were having sex twice a week, and we're still having sex at least twice a week, so how the hell (voice getting higher and louder here) is that only having sex when I'm fertile?

He pointed out that we have sex once a day when I'm ovulating.

I pointed out that that's extra sex, and I thought he'd be happy about that.

He pointed out that it's sex for procreation, and he thinks we should spend at least equal time just having sex for fun.

The penny dropped.

John. Is. JEALOUS. He's jealous of his own sperm.

Wow. How does he manage that?

My back

Dear Diary,

My back is feeling better now... just in time for what John calls the 'two week dry'. Growl.

Oh no

Dear Diary,

I went for coffee with Cathy this evening. She asked how I was, so I opened my mouth to answer.... and realised I was about to tell her about my cervical mucous and general fertility.

I'm a freak!

Oh Yeah...

In all that weirdness with the scrambled egg craving I almost forgot...

I'M FERTILE!!!! WOOHOOO!!!

Mucous

Oh my.

I just discovered that I can work out when I'm fertile by sticking my finger up my vagina, wiggling it around a bit, and checking the resulting gooey finger for something resembling egg-whites.

I tried it. Yep - egg-whitey stuff. But is it bad to look at your own cervical mucous and get cravings for scrambled eggs? Somehow that just seems wrong.

Pain

Note to self: Screaming in pain during sex really puts a man off.

But come on, what else can I do? I ovulate, we have sex... otherwise we lose an entire month.

Kama Sutra

Dear Diary,

John and I talked a couple of nights ago... and he's upset that sex is becoming mechanical. Geez, welcome to the club, mate! I think the best thing about trying to get pregnant is that men start feeling the way women have felt all their lives. Like sex aids. John says that he feels like a cross between a dildo and a turkey baster.

So anyway, last night I brought home a copy of the Kama Sutra and some massage oil to help spice things up a bit.

Word of advice: Don't attempt the Position of The Wife Of Indra while you're both slippery with massage oil. I lay down on my back, John knelt down and I put my feet on his shoulders... then I raised my bum, something slipped and now I've got a sprained back muscle and John has a black eye and cracked tooth.

Further word of advice: Wash off the massage oil before going to the Emergency ward of the hospital. It causes way too many smirks and spurious advice.

Oh well. At least I didn't have anything stuck in an orifice.

Murder

Dear Diary,

New month.

"Look on the bright side - another month to have fun and sex with each other!"

If one more person says that to me, they'll die. Painfully. Slowly.

Yoyo

Dear Diary,

It's just occurred to me that for 2 weeks every month, I turn into Ms. Yoyo Knickers. John's starting to think it's unnatural.

I told him to stop whinging and count his blessings.

Drool

Dear Diary,

Remind me why I'm doing this? Yes, I know, I know, you're only bits of paper, you can't help me. Dear God, I'm starting to talk to inanimate objects. I can't cope. I miss my coffee. Coffee! A coworker makes a cup 10m away and I start drooling. This is pathetic.

I managed to hold off from testing yesterday. Good thing, too. I started bleeding this morning. Not pregnant this month either. Is the pain REALLY worth it?

FAQ

I compiled a list of frequently asked questions for myself. Maybe this way I won't go nuts every time I get a twinge somewhere.

My breasts are sore and I’m feeling nauseous – am I pregnant?

You might be. You might not be. Your body might be trying to get into the right mood by manufacturing some pregnancy symptoms to keep you entertained. Or the sex you had last night was just a little too enthusiastic. Or you’re just plain imagining things. I know that sounds both vague and a little nasty, but it’s a sad fact of life that while some women just know when they get pregnant, the majority of us need to wait until about 6 weeks into the pregnancy to get any unmistakable symptoms.

My period’s usually spot on time, and now it’s one day late. Am I pregnant?

See above. Also, the stress of trying to conceive can delay your period. Don’t lose hope, though – getting pregnant can also delay your period.

How long will it take me to fall pregnant?

Anywhere from 5 minutes to never. On average, though, it takes 3-12 months.

Disaster Area

Dear Diary,

I thought I hated this diet. I was wrong.

NOW I hate this diet. Passionately.

I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror and screamed.

My face looks like it was borrowed from a teenage boy. I have zits all over my face. I'm so depressed I almost didn't go to work. Thank God for zit concealer. As long as I don't let anyone come within three metres of me, no one need know. Except my beloved husband, of course. Maybe I can just keep in the shadows when he's around. Candlelit dinner, and sex in the dark? It could work. Surely there's no chance of sex if he gets a closeup of this face. I look diseased.

I did another test this morning. I'm not pregnant today either. I'll try again tomorrow, just in case the tests aren't sensitive enough to pick it up yet.

Aftermath

Dear Diary,

That chocolate was so incredibly good. I don't think I've ever had chocolate so good. The pain of the last two weeks was almost worth the near-orgasmic experience of eating an entire block of chocolate.

I walked into work this morning and couldn't keep my face normal. Simon, Georgia and Karen twigged straightaway. You should've seen the earnest, disappointed looks on their faces. Like facing a cult member who'd strayed from the fold. They were feeling a little betrayed, but willing to forgive. So I confessed to eating a square of chocolate I'd found at the back of the fridge. I actually cried, the emotion was running so high.

So, back to the diet. Salad sandwiches on real wholemeal bread – not that fake dyed-white-bread stuff. I was allowed to add a little mustard, as long as it didn't have any salt or sugar in it. Actually, it was sort of nice – although it could've done with some cheese and meat. Anyone who says salad sandwiches aren't filling hasn't tried this healthy bread... it's like eating lead. Thunk, down into the stomach.

Negative No. 2

Dear Diary,

A negative. I tested and it's negative. I'm sitting here crying my eyes out, and I'm not sure what I'm most upset about – that I'm not pregnant, or that all this bloody liver-cleansing diet has been for nothing. I'm going nuts. I'm in tears, and I can't eat chocolate. What am I DOING to myself? This just isn't natural.

Wait a minute. What am I thinking? I'm at home by myself. There's a 24hour service station down the road. They sell chocolate. Who's to know if I break this stupid diet? It's not like I'm actually trying to cleanse my liver. All these vegetables have numbed my brain. Bye.

Berries

Dear Diary,

Despite the 'digestive discomfort', we've managed to keep to the sex schedule. If we get pregnant this month, I can finish this charade in 4 months. I can't keep the diet up for 4 months though. No way. Lucky I told people at work it should only go for 2 months. What am I going to do for the other 2 months? Darn, didn't think of that. Oh well, I'll think of something. Maybe I could pretend to convert to Islam.

PS. Berries on my breakfast – now that's one meal I can cope with. Pity about the soymilk.

Liquid Life

Dear Diary,

I've been fruited to death.

How on earth am I supposed to have sex every night when my bowels have turned to liquid? No-one warned me about this. 'Some digestive discomfort' does NOT imply diarrhoea.

John is in better shape. I suspect he's been cheating at lunchtimes. Fair enough, I guess. I would too, if I could.

Pulling Out...

Dear Diary,

I tried to do it. I did. I looked Simon in the face, and I said, “Look, about this liver cleansing diet...”. His face fell. He thought I was pulling out of it, and told me he was feeling SO much better, but he couldn't keep it up without our support. He was almost crying. Sigh. What is this talent I have lately for making grown men cry?

So I'm stuck with my brilliant idea. Let me see... what's for dinner tonight? Vegetable stirfry with rice... hallelujah, a dish I actually recognise!

Weird food woes

Dear Diary,

It's Day Three of Plan Health Nut. I'm about to expire for want of decent food. I'm eating vegetables I never heard of before. Chickpeas. Okra. Spinach. OK, OK, I'd heard of spinach before, but that doesn't mean I was stupid enough to eat it.

Maybe I should just come clean with the people at work. Suddenly, having 14 people showing deep interest in the sordid details of my sex life and asking me if I'm pregnant every second day doesn't sound so bad.

Soy = nuts

Dear Diary,

I shared the diet plan with the people at work. They're enthusiastic. You know, I should've started a cult instead. If these people can get enthusiastic about giving up everything that tastes good in their life... surely they'd get enthusiastic about a new religion with lots of sex and giving me half their income. Right? Bloody weirdos.

This morning for breakfast I had half a grapefruit, a bowl of muesli with soy milk, and a glass of orange juice. Soy milk. People drink the stuff voluntarily?? It tastes like bean-flavoured water with some sugar in it. Yuck. And I'm stuck with the stuff for 2 months. I'm nuts, right??

Kid, if you're reading this – LOOK AT WHAT I PUT UP WITH TO GET YOU. I sacrificed everything I value.

The Diet

Dear Diary,

I just talked to John about my diet problem. He collapsed in a pile of laughter. Bastard. He sobered up fast when I reminded him that I do the cooking around here, which means he's on the diet by default. He asked why I couldn't follow the diet at work, then pig out at home. I thought of that, but I couldn't look my fellow dieters in the eye if I did that. Besides, I need realistic leftovers to take in for lunch.

So, I found a sensible and not-too-bad diet... I'm not allowed more than one serve of red meat a week (John's in tears now), but allowed two serves of fish. The other meals are no meat, no dairy (oh, he's wailing...), not many eggs... no white flour, white sugar... dear God, is there ANYTHING left to eat? Or do we just starve for the other 18 meals?

Rollercoaster

I opened my mail tonight to find a news article sent by Mum. Apparently a woman having trouble getting pregnant, succeeded after going on a rollercoaster an hour after having sex.

In Australian theme parks, we'd need to have sex while waiting in line to get ON the rollercoaster.

Hmm

Note to self: Screaming out, "I'm ovulating!" does not turn a man on as much as I thought.

Sailor

To get pregnant, we need to have sex. I realise this. I quite welcomed the idea. But I'm starting to walk like a sailor - bowlegged. Make that a sailor who jogged 50km yesterday and repeatedly fell on his (let's make it her) bum. Very, very carefully.

People at work are starting to ask questions. I told them I've taken up horse-riding. It's practically true.

Tough?

No I'm not. It's been 10 minutes and I just - unintentionally - ate a piece of chocolate. I can't last 10 minutes on this diet. How can I keep it up at work?

The Diets

Dear Diary,

There are a plethora of liver-cleansing diets out there. That's the good bit. The bad bit is, they all SUCK. Big time. No coffee, no chocolate. How do people survive on these diets? Coffee and chocolate is how I get through my workdays.

Deep breaths... calm down. I can do this. Mind over matter. I'm tough.

Sheep

Dear Diary,

Crud. I now have three people joining me on my non-existant liver-cleansing diet.

I have to come up with something – FAST.

Doing it right

Dear Diary,

I've been talking to Sarah, and I've decided to do this properly. Just as if I were really pregnant. No coffee, no alcohol, pregnancy vitamins, the works.

Work is going to be a problem. I'm working 60+ hours a week and going out to the pub once a week. Drinking like a fish. Apparently that's not good even when TRYING to get pregnant. How do I explain suddenly switching to lemonade?

Sarah recommended a sudden health kick. Who on earth is going to believe that I'd go on a health kick? A drinking binge, sure, they'd believe that way too fast. To the child I'm writing this for – don't try that for yourself. I'm stupid, OK?

So – my plan. I tell my workmates that I've been talking to a friend who's into the whole natural medicine thing, and she recommended going on a liver-cleansing diet for a couple of months, since I've been pushing the poor thing pretty hard. Maybe I should try converting a few to my liver-cleansing diet too, just to add veracity.

Blood

Dear Diary,

I'm bleeding. I don't flipping believe it! I'm not pregnant. John thinks I've lost the plot because I burst into tears when I realised. Idiot. Him, not me.

Slow Time

Dear Diary,

One week till I know if I'm pregnant. Whew. This month is going so incredibly slowly. Maybe this is why women worry more about ageing - because sometimes our months feel like years, and we assume our bodies are showing it.

I overheard Sarah talking to Rachel at work yesterday. You're not going to believe your little blank pages, but they were talking about cervical mucous. I don't know what it is. I don't WANT to know what it is and why the heck they were talking about it. Has this pregnancy idea has totally unhinged my best friend? What should I do? Is there a Pregnancy Obsessives Anonymous who could stage an intervention?

Coffee

Dear Diary,

Sarah and Graham are trying for a baby too. I wonder why she didn't tell me before? The same reason I haven't told anyone but her, I guess.

We went for coffee during our lunchbreak. It was great to chat about babies and getting pregnant. Sarah was drinking herbal tea, though, and I asked what happened to the usual latte. Bad for conception? Crud. I thought coffee was only bad during pregnancy, but apparently not - it lowers the chance of conceiving.

This is NOT good. No more coffee? Is a baby really worth 10 months of no coffee?

Meanwhile, John and I are doing our thing every night. John's in HEAVEN. Men.

The Beginning

I got the surprise of my life today. I thought I was surprised when John proposed to me, but this knocked my socks off.

I walked into the lounge after work. John was home, sitting on the couch, TV off, looking solemn. My heart sank. He said, "We need to talk"... and my heart found a new, previously-unexplored depth to sink to.

But get this... he's not having an affair. He didn't get fired.

He wants to start trying for a baby.

I'm so excited. I've decided to start this journal to chart the conception, pregnancy, birth and early childhood of our new family member. She or he can read through it later in life and know just what went on. I wish my mum had done this.

This is all fiction...

Watch this space...

Fictional diary entries coming soon.