The Mommy Chronicle, Part 1

In this post I'm going to start the saga of how my Conman came about. No, not the down-and-dirty, blow-by-blow report of the conception, but the general story around how he "happened".

Before I go into it, though, I want to say that yesterday one of my favorite movie stars passed away - Heath Ledger. I enjoyed his films, and considered myself among his fans. It is a tragic loss, and I feel like we're somehow "less" culturally because he's gone now. I feel similarly now to how I felt when Brandon Lee passed away. It was too soon, and we will be without many fantastic films and, what I think we could have termed "landmark" films because of his death. It has saddened me, and I for one will feel a void in my movie watching without Mr. Ledger. Godspeed, Heath Ledger, and my prayers are with your daughter and family.

On to the other stuff...

When the DH and I first got together, I didn't want children. I was 19 years old, and no "kid" really knows what they want. I knew that I wanted the DH, but that was about it. Kids? Nah. I'd make do with the kids he already had (I'm a second wife, and he already had children with his first wife). I was happy with this decision until my grandmother passed away, and I began to think about my legacy here on the planet. I was positive that I would be a famous writer someday, and that children wouldn't be needed to carry on my legacy - my writing would do that for me. When my grandma died, I thought about her children and grandchildren, and thought about how, even though she didn't do anything monumental with her life, her children have, and her grandchildren have, and without her, they wouldn't even be here. I decided, at that point, that I, too, wanted children.

I didn't tell the DH that I had stopped the birth control pills. I just stopped them and continued with our "marital activities" as normal. After three or four months with no results, I let DH in on the secret and my reasons. He didn't want another child, but he agreed and went along with my plans. I saw a doctor and was informed that because of polycystic ovaries I would have difficulty conceiving a child.

Three years later, and we were still without child, still seeing a doctor, still being tested. The final step (just before in-vitro fertilization) was Clomid, an ovary-stimulating and egg-releasing medication. Often children conceived on Clomid are multiples, so there was the risk of that. You start Clomid with a smaller dose and if that doesn't work, the dose is upped a bit, and if that doesn't work, it's upped yet again. After three rounds of Clomid you have to let your body rest, and then start over with the low dose again. The higher the dose, the more likely you are to conceive multiples. I got pregnant on the third dose, first round of Clomid. That's not the story here, though. The story is exactly how the conception happened.

Now, along with the pills, the doctor prescribes certain positions for a higher rate of conception while on Clomid. One of these positions is that after you finish doing your marital activities you put a pillow beneath your bottom and put your legs up in the air to keep the stuff inside that you want to stay inside. Now, I'm a big woman. You have to stay that way for ten minutes, and while that doesn't seem like a long time, go try it. It feels like ten hours instead of ten minutes. Well, I got the big idea that rather than lie flat on my back with my legs up in the air, I would just flop over the edge of the bed and stand on my head.

Now, I said above that I'm a big woman. That means I'm big all over - if you know what I mean. My bed and chest of drawers at the time were fairly close - about 2 feet apart - and guess where I ended up when I flopped over the edge of the bed? Yep, between the bed and the chest. Upside down. Wedged between these two pieces of furniture. As usual, when you're performing marital activities, I was naked, so my big 'ole boobs were upside down, too - and covering my nose and mouth. So now not only am I stuck between the bed and chest, but I'm effectively smothering myself with my own breasts.

Now, I can't imagine what DH thought when he first saw me when he walked back into the bedroom. He told me later that his first impulse was Oh, my, I need to help my wife, but he couldn't do much more than stand there and laugh. Obviously, he eventually helped me down, I didn't smother to death, and we conceived a child. For a moment there, though, I thought, Dear Lord, my husband is going to have to actually EXPLAIN to people how his wife died.

So there is the story of the conception of my child. It's no wonder he's an odd bird - just look at the parents he came from!