How trying to conceive almost consumed my sex life.

Hormonal issues like PCOS and irregular ovulation can make falling more difficult but what about when tracking every aspect of your sex life takes the pleasure out of it? 

How Trying to Fall Pregnant Almost Became the Focus of My Sex Life by Alex Rich

Not-Quite Immaculate Conception: Navigating Desire and (In)Fertility

I stood over the bathroom sink, my eyes burning as they adjusted to the light. I peeked downward at the little piece of plastic and cardboard, knowing whatever I saw would define my reality. Then, there it was…

I squinted, put my glasses on, and took them back off. I held the test at different angles. I took a picture with my phone and changed the contrast, frantically searching for that glimmer of a second line. Still, nothing.

Unconvinced, I grabbed a digital test, my body moving with sheer muscle memory in this brutal ritual I’d been enduring for months. I stood there scrolling early-morning 

, trying to ignore the blinking dots that indicated the test was processing. The blinking stopped, and my stomach dropped.

I don’t remember when I formally decided I wanted to have children. For most of my life, I’d considered kids a foregone conclusion, one to be addressed in a seemingly distant future. Kids were always “seven years away” in my mind, even as I moved from my early, to mid, and now late twenties. By early 2022, my partner and I were married homeowners with solid careers, and therefore “qualified” for parenthood by society’s standards (and that of our families). 

For most of my life, I’d considered kids a foregone conclusion, one to be addressed in a seemingly distant future…

I came around on parenthood once we’d hit those early adulthood milestones, but constant questions and comments from family about us having kids made me want to pop one out just to shut them all up. It felt weird saying we were trying to conceive (or “TTC” for those fluent in mommy-blog lingo). So when someone would ask, I’d just vaguely acknowledge that we weren’t exactly trying, but we weren’t preventing it either. To be honest, we didn’t think we needed to.

Cue the months of acupuncture sessions and mouthfuls of daily supplements. I bought a pricey digital tracker to monitor my daily hormone levels and alert me when I was ovulating. I became a functional expert on conception and fertility, devouring anything I could find online. I learned the magic number was 20 percent — that is, the monthly probability of conceiving, even with perfect timing and no health issues.

I armed myself with information, certain it was the key to getting pregnant quickly. It felt like once I took care of the big issues, having sex would be the easy part. I was completely unprepared for how frustrating sex would be when every little detail needed to be tracked.

The common advice is to have sex (or “Baby Dance” – another mommy blog phrase I’ll never use because it’s infantilizing) two days before ovulation, the day of, and the day after. I’d rather not belabor the point, but timing intercourse with my husband/spouse is far and away the least sexually empowering thing I’ve ever done.

I imagine animals used for breeding feel similarly: lay down, do what you need to do, roll over and try again tomorrow.

It was like I’d lost all agency in deciding to have sex when I wanted to, and I felt trapped by my own biology. I imagine animals used for breeding feel similarly: lay down, do what you need to do, roll over and try again tomorrow. Even when I wasn’t in the mood, I still felt like I had to 

, because if I wasn’t willing to try, then how badly did I really want to have a child? If I was going to half-ass the conception process, what kind of parent would I be?

I spent my early twenties healing from religious trauma and the sex-negativity I’d been subjected to as a teen, and this clinical approach to sex was totally killing my desire. The pressure that we put on ourselves was unsustainable, and after a while, we weren’t even enjoying the sex anymore. I was becoming more and more anxious. If trying to conceive was this hard, what might 

All of the sessions with my own therapist have been focused on this journey to becoming a parent. I spent several sessions in tears, wondering if all of this stress was actually worth it. My husband, who had been more than supportive this entire time, continually affirmed my decisions. He tells me as often as I need to hear it that our life together is what he wants, whether it includes children or not. It can be hard to believe him sometimes but I take him at his word.

After a friend’s Christmas Eve pregnancy reveal that had me bawling in my husband’s childhood bedroom, I knew something had to give. I was growing resentful of the people around me for whom pregnancy seemed to come so easily, and of my own body. It had betrayed me, I felt, by failing at the one thing it had been built to do. I started journaling, reflecting on my feelings and interrogating why having a child was such a big deal to me. I hoped to uncover the root of my inner desire for children, outside of social pressure or biological imperatives.

I was growing resentful of the people around me for whom pregnancy seemed to come so easily, and of my own body.

Earlier this year, my husband and I celebrated the 10th anniversary of when we first met, and that night we agreed to take a TTC break. I felt relieved that I could be myself again, unencumbered from the stress of fertility issues. Our sex life returned to normal. We were passionate again, taking things slowly and enjoying ourselves. We could see each other as a couple, instead of somebody’s future parents. I don’t know when, or if, we’ll start “trying” again.

 to help paint a fuller picture of our reproductive health. I’m not sure what we’ll do with the information we receive. I can see myself enjoying life both with and without children. I’m learning to find joy with the life I have and not rush things. I want to go into every decision I make with intentionality.

I’ll have to make a decision about the life I want one day but I’ve found peace where I am. Today, that’s more than good enough.