I don’t know exactly when we decided it was time to have a baby (we were already a bit older), but I remember very clearly what happened next: I ordered ovulation tests, a large toiletry bag for all the tools (sperm-friendly lubricant and of course… a thermometer), and I began. Great determination, zero calmness.

At first, I approached it like a project. I’m a bit obsessive anyway... I’ll track my cycle, check for ovulation, have intercourse on the right days, I’ll get pregnant on the first try. Easy, right?

Wrong.

My cycle didn’t care about my plans. The test would come out positive on days when I had migraines or when my husband was away abroad (he travels often for work). It would be negative when I was sure it should be positive based on my calculations. I took tests at the office, in café bathrooms, even once in the car (no comments, please). I reached a point where I’d see a positive result and celebrate like I had passed university entrance exams.

At some point, my husband started asking me, confused:
“Are we doing this because we want to or because the test told us to?”
And I’d reply:
“The test. And we want to. You don’t get to choose. It’s a package deal.”

Months went by, and with them, 4 whole packs of tests. I had learned to aim midstream with my eyes closed!! I had memorized the LH surge pattern (along with those little test strips in the bag). I was also measuring my temperature every morning and logging it—obsessive, as I said… I even had a group chat on my phone called “Fertile Days Alert.”

Before intercourse, I’d carefully apply the vaginal gel to help my husband’s swimmers… reach their target. And of course, afterward, I wouldn’t get out of bed for a long time (sometimes I even did a shoulder stand until the blood rushed to my head)…

Everything was going like clockwork. Or as much like clockwork as it can when you experience a small, but real grief every time your period arrives. That’s how 5 months passed. Five times when the first day of my cycle found me unable to get out of bed from the mild depression. One question haunted me: “We did everything right—so what’s going wrong?”

That total lack of control is what was driving me crazy. That, and the fear that maybe we had a fertility issue, like so many couples around us. The dark thoughts overwhelmed me to the point where I didn’t even want to take a pregnancy test and see that one lonely line staring back like a nightmare.

Until one morning, I woke up in a good mood and had the instinct to take a pregnancy test. As I waited for the result, I somehow knew what I was about to see…

And there it was—faintly visible—the second purple line. I stared at it, not believing it. The most beautiful purple line I had ever seen…

Today, my little boy is 5 months old and he chomps on his pacifier with the same passion I used to eat bananas “for better ovulation.” And I laugh every time I remember how frantically coordinated I was.

If I have one piece of advice to share, it’s this: Trying takes persistence—but also a bit of humor. And of course patience—but less Googling at 2 a.m.

See pregnancy tests