As I approached my 40th birthday, I treated myself to a rather unconventional gift: a fertility monitor that cost over $200. It might not be the most glamorous of presents, and I certainly wouldn’t ask anyone else to buy it for me, but it symbolizes my commitment to pursuing the one thing I long for as I step into this new decade: motherhood.
While there are various methods to track ovulation, I’m eager for all the assistance I can get in pinpointing my fertile days. Given my fluctuating freelance income, that investment feels significant. Yet, it seems worth it—at least to me—to feel proactive about my journey.
I had always believed that getting pregnant would be straightforward, hinging simply on time and intimacy. Convincing my partner, who isn’t as enthusiastic about parenting as I am, took two long years, and I thought that would be my biggest obstacle. Once he agreed to stop using contraception, I imagined we’d be among those couples who defy the odds of infertility. I hoped that despite only starting this endeavor at 38, nature would respond to my desires. Perhaps that was naive, but the thought of navigating the overwhelming landscape of fertility treatments felt daunting, leading me to procrastinate until I could no longer ignore it.
Fortunately, there’s a fertility specialist’s office nearby, though my insurance coverage—thanks to my partner’s job—only includes basic lab work and nothing specifically for fertility issues. I’m currently undergoing those tests, which will be reimbursed, and once completed, my doctor will outline my options, likely involving fertility drugs like Clomid or IVF (in vitro fertilization). If I choose that path, I may have to rely on credit cards to finance it.
As I await my doctor’s recommendations, I’ve begun exploring the dizzying array of fertility-enhancing products available. Shopping for these items doesn’t evoke the same excitement as trying on a new dress. Instead, it feels as though the future I desire hinges on every purchase I make—or don’t make. The longing for a child can stir up a whirlwind of emotions: desire, jealousy, and confusion over the myriad choices available.
Desperate times have led me to sample fertility teas, such as FertiliTea, which claims to promote reproductive health and enhance the likelihood of conception. I find myself swallowing my skepticism, hoping that these efforts might yield results.
Although I’ve technically been trying since late 2014, I admit my attempts have been somewhat lackluster. Regular unprotected intimacy with my boyfriend was the extent of my efforts until recently. I hadn’t even begun charting my fertility, as recommended in Toni Weschler’s book, Taking Charge of Your Fertility, a title that came highly recommended. I purchased the fertility monitor partly to empower myself.
Tracking my basal body temperature and cervical mucus is still on my to-do list, but I’ve yet to make it a priority. A part of me fears that it might already be too late for me. There’s a nagging thought that perhaps I’ve been holding back my efforts just enough, so if I don’t conceive, the blow won’t feel as crushing.
Adding “get pregnant” to my list of priorities feels like an overwhelming endeavor, one that seems to demand my full attention. If I could afford to pause my freelance writing temporarily, I would, just to reduce the stress that comes with juggling my aspirations. I’ve begun researching various products aimed at women of my “advanced maternal age” (over 35) on this quest.
The fertility marketplace is a jungle. I’ve stumbled upon sites like twoweekwait.com, which not only hosts a trying-to-conceive community but also showcases products like a “baby-making iPhone fertility monitor” and FertileCM, a supplement designed to enhance cervical mucus. Instead of impulsively purchasing every item with “fertility” in the title, I’ve been more selective.
I experimented with PreSeed, a so-called “fertility-friendly” lubricant, but it didn’t suit our preferences, so we reverted to our usual choice. For a while, I tried a Fertile-Focus personal ovulation microscope, which supposedly reveals fertility through a process called ferning, but I gave up after the expected patterns ceased to appear. My impatience might be my downfall in this already lengthy process.
Word-of-mouth recommendations have become my go-to source of information. After hearing from a friend with two children that FertiliTea had helped acquaintances of hers conceive, I decided to give it a try. It was a low-cost investment that didn’t taste medicinal, but rather like a pleasant herbal infusion.
If I genuinely believed I could buy my way to motherhood, my credit cards would be maxed out by now. I suspect many of these products may be too good to be true, effective for only a select few. I approach options like PregPrep, which encourages women to “take charge of their conception,” with skepticism. It seems implausible that the journey to motherhood could be as simple as taking a daily pill.
Understanding the science behind my fertility feels critical, but I sometimes wish I had studied biology to better grasp my chances. For instance, Premama’s Reproductive Support Supplement claims to improve ovulatory function and egg quality, but what does that really mean? The more I research, the more overwhelming and stressful the process becomes. Perhaps my previous ignorance about aging eggs was a form of bliss.
A significant hurdle is that I don’t have many people to consult. While friends offer well-meaning advice—sometimes bordering on offensive—like suggesting IVF without understanding the financial implications, I still seek relatable narratives. It’s encouraging to see public figures like Emily discussing their fertility struggles, although some comments can be disheartening. I particularly resonated with Ilyse Hogue’s feelings of failure after experiencing two miscarriages.
Despite considering options like adoption, I’m not ready to explore that route until I exhaust my chances of conceiving. Each time I face a decision about what to purchase or try, I contemplate giving up before I’ve truly begun, just to avoid the potential heartbreak and expense of disappointment. I don’t expect the journey to pregnancy in my early 40s to be easy; I know of many women who have successfully achieved it. Still, I wish distinguishing marketing hype from sound scientific advice were clearer in the fertility industry.
If I do become a mother, I want my child to know the extent of my commitment. Right now, however, I’m not entirely certain how far I’m willing to go. It’s not solely about finances, but also about time and emotional energy. I want to ensure that the desire for a child doesn’t overshadow my current life or relationship. While it’s easy to say I want a baby, the reality of making that happen has turned out to be one of the most challenging pursuits I’ve ever faced.
For more information on fertility and home insemination options, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy from Healthline. If you’re considering at-home options for conception, reputable retailers like Make a Mom offer syringes and kits that might suit your needs. For further insights into fertility challenges, you can also read more about it in a related post.
In summary, the journey to conceive at 40 is filled with uncertainties and emotional turmoil. Despite the myriad of products and advice available, the path is far from straightforward, and the desire for a child often leads to complex decisions and feelings of inadequacy. Nonetheless, I’m determined to explore every avenue before considering other options like adoption.
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