Manversation

My wife and I had a five year plan: once married, we would wait five years before starting a family. We wanted to travel together, experience the journey we embarked upon on our wedding day, and unify our lives together as one. Like most newlyweds we didn’t have much in the way of financial security and most of our energy was devoted to supporting one another while trying to finish college. We wanted to set a firm foundation before even considering a family. I was twenty seven at the time and my wife was 23. Needless to say, we also felt much too young, irresponsible, and downright selfish to bring another life into this world. Naturally, three years into marriage we decided to start a family. However, fate it seems, is keeping us to our original five year plan. In the beginning we were excited and hopeful. I even made the mistake, much to my wife’s dismay, of announcing our decision to her family during a trip to Mexico. We rented a house on Rocky Point, all eleven of us. For a son-in-law, this may be a worst nightmare scenario. However, my wife’s family is wonderful (most of the time) and love to have a good time with plenty of food, alcohol, music and dancing. After a horrendous day of shopping in blistering heat looking at the same trinket in store after store, we decided to relax at a local cantina and enjoy ample libations of Margaritas and tequila. Now, normally I’m a quiet, reserved guy; however, given the correct amount of liquid courage, I can crack open my shell of introverted silence and release all the thoughts in my head, whether for good or bad. On this occasion, seeing as the entire family was gathered and having a grand time, why not announce our decision while spirits were high? After all, we had been trying for two months and my wife could be pregnant even at the moment of my announcement. Well, my wife’s family is not shy by any means, and the can of worms I opened by blurting out “we’re trying to have a baby” was much larger and more explosive than anticipated. Within moments, her family was offering up their rooms for our fruitful conception. Our child was named and their little life was plotted out: who they would marry, and, of course, how spectacular their football career would be. In that one moment, I placed my wife and me into a pressure cooker of baby-making, surrounded on all sides by anticipation and endless prodding. It’s been one-and-a-half years since that announcement. The excitement has faded, replaced by frustration and, sometimes, arguments in which we blame each other for our failure. The endless prodding has ended, and the topic of pregnancy in the family is hushed. I often joke with my wife that we should head out to a bar, pretend we don’t know one another, drink ourselves into a stupor, shoot some cocaine, meet in the bathroom, and then, surely, she will get pregnant. My only saving grace over the last two years is a show I watched on PBS documenting how a woman becomes pregnant. I must say after watching that show it’s a wonder anyone becomes pregnant at all. From the moment the fruit of my loins begins its journey, my wife’s defense network goes into Defcon 1 and the chances my little guys have of survival is dismal. Should one of them succeed, the fertilized egg is still seen as the spawn of Satan and is attempted to be purged from her body. And, if by some miracle, the egg takes hold in the uterus, the process that follows quite frankly is a miracle. A process for which I am quite ready. Our five year anniversary is only a few short months away. Our five year plan is coming to a close, and my wife and I have some tough decisions to make if nature does not cooperate. For those men out there who are also experiencing what I am, then you may know what is to follow…the fertility doctor, the “window of opportunity,” and your wife standing on her head…weird. Next post I’ll talk about the fertility doctor and his “toys” disguised as sonogram equipment.