Fun, carefree sex…. Gone! Light-hearted conversations about who the baby will look like… Out the window! Desperately trying to figure out if your husband or the milk-man is the father of your unborn child… History!
I love surprising my husband, and couldn’t wait for the opportunity to tell him that I was pregnant. Fertility drugs, regimented sex schedules, meticulously documented menstrual cycles, calculated two-week waits and frequent pregnancy tests sort of ruin the element of surprise. My darling husband will, as a matter of course, know when I had my last period, when I ovulated, and when we are due for a pregnancy test.
Damn you, Assisted Reproductive Technology, you have stolen my power to surprise!
Before we knew that we would need help to get pregnant, I had thought of a few possible ways to give him the news that he had knocked me up:
- Stick a tiny bow on my tummy approximately where I imagine the teeny embryo would be, then tell him I have a present for him hidden somewhere on my body and he has to find it.
- Buy a ridiculously corny t-shirt saying something like “the bun-maker”, “New Dad!”, or “Got One Past the Goalie” and hide it under his pillow.
- Wrapping the positive pregnancy test and giving it to him as a gift with a six-pack of beer for him to celebrate (and perhaps a non-alcoholic champagne for me which I can drink out of the crystal flutes we got as a wedding present).
- Vomiting a lot and complaining that I am too fat for any of my clothes, and just letting him figure it out.
Don’t get me wrong. He and I will both be absolutely ecstatic when we finally get that news. But it does take some of the fun out of it, doesn’t it?