One fall evening in 2003, Eric and I were leisurely walking Spencer along the path behind our house in Ajax. I was grappling with this overwhelming urge to have a baby.

Society was whispering in my ear that it was the right time: We had a house in the suburbs, two cars and a dog. We’d been married just a few weeks. It Was Time, wasn’t it?

Luckily, Eric gently, logically and cleverly squashed that idea (too young, too poor, can’t we please have more sex first?). I’m so glad he did, because you really don’t have any idea how life changes with a baby, do you? No matter how much people warn you — and jeezus, didn’t I HATE people telling me this! — about the sleep deprivation, the constant need and supervision, the diapers and laundry and rocking rocking rocking and then chasing chasing chasing, you just have no idea.

And really, it’s not about the sleep loss and time, is it? Those are expected, infinite variables, ones you begrudgingly, painfully readjust your life around. After all, the sperm didn’t just appear at the egg’s door, knocking insistently, persistently, until she peeked outside with the chain across and Mr. Mighty-Swimmer busted inside. No, most of us threw open the door with a welcoming flourish and beckoned with tea and cookies.

Read the rest of this entry »

S.e.x. is a bit of a no-no topic here, for a number of reasons:

• Eric said so
• I know a lot of you. Some of you have seen me pee in a field and my butt encased in bandages, so do you really need more intimate details?
• Hi Dad!

All that being said, s.e.x. is very important in a marriage, even more so after the s.e.x. you had produced the pitter-patter of wee feet you now listen for if you happen to vainly attempt to sneak in some s.e.x. when said child is awake.

(Lesson learned: Don’t do it.)

Now that Lucy is here and s.e.x. is not longer a functional act, Eric and I are sparring over contraception. We adore little Lucy, but there’snowayinhell we’re ready for two of her any time soon. Mostly because I still remember the screaming. Oh, and passing out from exhaustion with poop on my sleeve looking like that is currently not my idea of a good time. Spencer, however, would love it.

I went off the pill in March, 2005. Stayed off for the year I breastfed Lucy. Once that was done, Eric’s tapping foot reverberated throughout the house, impatiently waiting for the little silver package of teeny blue pills to materialize again. Condoms, as I’m sure many of you know, are a pain in the…well, the you-know-what.

But I’ve resisted going back on them. Despite the huge benefit of a much shorter period and fewer PMS symptoms, I kinda like being au naturel. My body makes sense, and I can hear what it’s saying, the cycles it’s going through. I know popping those magic pills again will suppress that. And do I really want to detox my body all over when it is time to try for another baby?

I’m not interested in having any foreign objects living in my uterus. So that leaves us with lackluster latex and some swearing.

So now tell me: What do you use for conception? Before baby? After? At all?

As I’m getting ready to leave for the movies Monday, I ask Eric if I can take his cell phone since mine is dead.

“Sure. But if any ladies call, you’re my mom.”

“Your mom? That’s not going to get you laid.”

“Oh. Right. OK, you’re my sister.”

Read the rest of this entry »

Sunday, 5:30 p.m, the kitchen.

Eric and I dancing. (Actually, we’re dirty dancing. Ahem. Meow! Someone in the house is ovulating!)

Our shuffling is interrupted by coughing from the corner.

Read the rest of this entry »