So for the moment anyway, we continue to do things au natural. (NB: this does not include baby dancing of any sort, the very suggestion of which conjurs wierd and creepy connotations which may say as much about me as about the term itself. In this household, we have sex. Sometimes, and increasingly even, there's lovemaking in there. BD'ing is never an acronym to which you will see me subscribe, and its absence is something I also cherish about the ALI blog world). I have never been the type to chart my cycles either, because I find it stresses me out, and anyway, I'm lucky to at least have a body which sends fairly clear signals about what its all up into at all the right times, so that's never been a problem (and my instincts have been confirmed by investigative ultrasounds, which is reassuring).
This cycle feels like a bigger deal than other recent attempts, mostly because we're actually actively trying again. What with my depressive mood in the run-up to the holidays, and a week of stomach flu that put us down for the count in October, and some tension in terms of our differing ways of dealing (which seem now happily to be smoothing out), our ttc efforts in recent months have been pretty paltry. We've been tired. I guess we were in kind of 'taking a break' mode. Maybe it was even restorative. In any case, it feels good - hopeful even - to at least be doing something again
And so, we are now approaching that crucial, make-or-break time of the month...that's right, the fertile window is upon us. Or as H likes to call it, 'our week of hot jungle sex'. (We inadvertantly coined a new term on a TTC after Loss forum that I frequent. I mentioned H's humouros term once to the girls there, and now it's all 'jungle time' this, and 'hot jungle sex' that over there. This makes me inexplicably delighted).
So yeah, it's jungle time. One friend asked if that involves trapeze style swings fashioned from vines. I suppose it could if you wanted it to. I lack the sporty abilities for that. Still, I'm fortunate that after all this time, my husband and I can still get in jungle time that involves a genuine sense of pleasure in one another, and that H is such a wonderful partner that he manages to instil a sense of fun and humour in what could otherwise be arduous and stressy, what with all the timing things, and the pillow-under-the-butt, legs-in-the-air sexiness that ensues from my side.
And moreso, I'm very lucky indeed that said jungle time this month coincides with romantically snowy outdoor landscapes of the type that facilitate intense canoodling, and fall over a Sunday, since we have some special Sunday rituals in our home that involve staying in bed all day, reading the weekend papers, occassionally a bottle of prosecco, and, well...are equally conducive to intense canoodling. (There have to be perks to enforced childlessness, right?)
It's almost enough to banish thoughts of the dreaded weeks that follow...Perhaps, in homage to the desert, devoid of hopefulness and the intense thirst for some finality that they often involve, I should christen the 2ww 'desert time'?
|Me Tarzan, you Jane. Source.|