So, presently I'm on the final days of a lovely vacation in Florida. For those buried under an avalanche of snow yet again...so sorry. When you can't get pregnant, every fool and her sister tells you to go on vacation. Apparently our reproductive systems know which climate we're having sex in. But how do we know if our eggs and sperm are snobs? Maybe you'd get pregnant in a five star hotel. But your husband's sperm refuses to be seen at a Motel 6.
It's all very confusing to me. People who fool around on their spouses say it doesn't count if they're away from home. And it doesn't count when you meet someone on Spring Break either. And it doesn't count if you don't know the person's first name, or where they live, or their natural hair color. So how do our reproductive systems know, when we're on vacation with the person we're supposed to be on vacation with, that THIS time is supposed to count?
Okay, when people tell us to go on vacation to get pregnant, I think they're telling us to go away and relax. If our bodies and minds are relaxed, nature will do what it's supposed to and we'll come back pregnant. Okay, so I believe the mind/body thing and am a strong proponent of taking your mind off the rigors of the shitty journey as much as possible...hence this blog. But, oh, if only it could be that simple.
How fast-acting is this formula for pregnancy anyway? Maybe you could just go on the Expedia website and leave it on the screen while you do your husband on the floor by the computer.
Or maybe you could make love with the boarding pass sandwiched between you (Okay, that thought pretty much nixed my chances of ever applying for a job at the airport. "Sir, if I get this job working at the check-in counter, can I wear gloves? You just never know where those boarding passes have been.")
Are there statistics on (let me apologize before I even type it) how many pregnancies have been achieved by members of the mile-high club? I'm figuring there have been way more bruises than pregnancies. And let me confess, I probably haven't ever seriously considered becoming a member of that club, but when I've used one of the airplane toilets, I've often wondered how it's even possible. They're so teeny, where would everything go? There's barely enough room to pee.
So, that's what we'll discuss this week. No not urinating at high altitudes air in a cramped moving object. (Though it could be a fascinating topic and I could probably go on about it for an entire week...but, really, who would want me to?) Instead, we'll talk about what really goes on during a vacation that might be helpful during this infertility time of our lives and if it's really possible to check our emotional infertility-related baggage at the border?
Listen, I gotta go. I've been on vacation for almost a week now and, needless to say, as I put on my bathing suit for the last time, I'm going to have to call for help. It's somehow shrunk a lot in the past few days... yeah that must be it.
I'll talk with ya again tomorrow.