I’m a pretty brave individual. I kill my own spiders. I’ve lived alone in a strange city. I’m not afraid to talk to strangers. I try new foods and go new places and am fairly adventurous. However, when my husband said to me a few days ago, “Wow. You just picked up your last pack of pills for a while, huh?” I felt a mixture of excitement and extreme panic. After skimming through the pregnancy book I bought months ago in preparation for this time, I very confidently feel like backing out of this idea that has been mainly mine for so long. What had I been thinking?

In one month we’ll stop preventing and join the cult of TTCers (that’s “trying to conceive” for those of you not thinking of joining the club yet). Suddenly, the main concern in my life will be what my basal body temperature is and what day of my cycle I’m on. While I originally somehow deluded myself into thinking I’d be able to take on this job with the ease and grace of walking down a flight of stairs in running shoes, I know that I won’t be able to just “stop preventing” and that my crazy mind will immediately shift into “trying to conceive” the day I stop taking my pills.

As I have been the one actively campaigning for this moment in our lives, I realize how suddenly unfair it is for me to have wanted my husband to be ready for this madness before this time. Now that he’s well acquainted with all of my kinds of crazy, he’s finally ready to see what kind of crazy I’ll be when you add double the amount of hormones to my system and an uncontrollable growing force in my uterus. (TMI?) Poor guy. This why I love him and want to have his babies in the first place.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that starting in April, I’ll be at the mercy of mother nature and God. I’ll try to keep my frustration at my bodily functions during the process to myself. I wouldn’t want to turn into a mommy blogger before I’m even a mommy…God, this is terrifying.