So, we all know that having “timed intercourse” sucks ass. Well, maybe not all of us. I normally sympathize with those who have to resort to even suckier means of insemination. Normally, I take some small shred of comfort in the fact that though I may not ovulate on my own without medication (be it Metformin or Clomid), I may be a habitual aborter, but at least we don’t have male factor issues. At least sex can still do the job. At least I can feel normal about that.
Normally, I feel that way. Today, not so much. Today I would prefer a catheter and ultrasound wand. Today I would prefer the order and schedule and certainty of a medical procedure to leaving it to whether or not I feel like having sex with my husband.
That’s bad, right? The state of things has gotten such to the point that not only do I not want to have sex on a regular day, but neither of us want to have sex even during possible ovulation. Needless to say sexapaloosa has not gone according to plan. Or at all. We’ve done it a whopping twice this month.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that neither of us wants to have sex. It’s just that neither of us want to have sex at the same time or with each other. That sounds wrong. I want to have sex with him, just not the way it’s been happening. It has come to if I want his sperm then I need to initiate, I need to “make it happen” and then I need to deal with literal complaints and general disrespect all during. Not “you’re a bad wife and I hate you” kind of disrespect, more like “oh yeah, suck it” or “that’s a good girl” kind of disrespect. Stuff that’s really little and could be kind of fun in the right context. I know sounds charming right. That’s not to say I’m the only one who initiates. Occasionally while I’m watching TV or reading or trying to work at home he’ll walk up to me and put his dick in my face. Cause, you know, that’s how every girl wants to be come on to.
So, that’s WAY too much information about my shitty sex life. But it was put out there for two reasons. One, if you’re in a shitty place because of IF stealing your marital spark, you aren’t alone. It sucks, but you aren’t. Two, all of that is the back story for how we’ve missed our window this month.
Our window, as you may know if read regularly, can be rather wide as far when I’m going to ovulate. But, once I get the green light signs it’s pretty short, just like everyone elses. I live my whole month in preparation for this window. It’s the most important thing. It’s important enough to run my marriage through the ringer (because it will be worth it). It’s important enough to reschedule important events. That window holds all of my hope for the future. That window is my only chance at the life I’ve always wanted. That window, that chance, is all I have some days.
So, for an entire month to be lost to something as fickle as a sex drive, is devastating. For one window to be lost because someone is too tired, or doesn’t feel like it, is a waste. A waste of time, sure, but mostly a waste of hope. To waste a window, to waste my hope is a very deep hurt. It’s deeper than the hurt of not moving the hot tub that would save me from pain. It’s deeper than the hurt of bad sex. It’s the equivalent of saying “right now, I don’t love you enough to want to have a child with you, and your deepest desire is of no importance to me.”
So, last night was our window. Yesterday was the only time this month that I saw EWCM. Now, that doesn’t mean anything definitive, we’re not far enough out to really know if I even ovulated this month. I could be upset over a non-window. Regardless, last night had all the makings of ovulation. Last night was the time that I felt held our best chances. Last night was the window. It was the time I’d been preparing for all month.
But, my window was missed. When I brought the subject up the answer was “Can’t we do it in the morning? I’m tired.” Any other night that would have been fine. Any other night that might have dinged my pride a little, but nothing more. Last night, though, more than my pride was on the line. Last night, our future was on the line. Last night, it was the equivalent of saying he didn’t love me.