Take Pill. Swallow.

Took the first pill of my last pack of birth control today. I know to some people that may not feel monumental, but for me it seems the last time I will be actively trying to not get pregnant. I’ve been on birth control since I was 18. That’s 12 years of trying not to get pregnant. I don't even know what my body will be like without the cocktail of estrogen and god knows what running through my body. Aside from the main goal of starting a family, I’m also looking forward to just letting my body be. Letting it ovulate and be a woman and all of that cheesy stuff.

It took me awhile to decide when to stop taking the pills, aka when to start trying. Hmm. I just re-read that sentence. It took me awhile to decide. Oddly enough, I don’t feel like my husband was a huge part of the decision. That sounds cold. But what I mean is, he gave me the go ahead, said that he was ready, and then told me it was my body and I could decide.

Making that decision was a weird experience for me. I’m sure for a lot of women it is simple. As soon as they get the go-ahead from their husbands/spouse/wives/partners/whatever they just stop swallowing that little pill as soon as possible. For me, even though I feel emotionally ready, it became an intellectual decision. Am I ready for this? Am I ready for things I will have to give up? How about the little things? My hobbies? My glass of wine?

So I started trying to find the “perfect time.” I found reasons why, months in advance, I might not want to be pregnant. For example, “oh such-and-such party” or “so-and-so will be in town.” Finally, my husband said, “you know eventually you will have to miss out on something because you are pregnant.” And I realized he was right. This isn’t about finding the perfect 9 months when there will be nothing exciting happening that I won’t regret missing. Yeah, right. So the question becomes simple. Are you ready?

Yep.

Here’s how I finally decided. I looked at how many packages of birth control I had left. I found out I had exactly three. Three months seemed like a good amount of time to enjoy what was left of my time to be “not-pregnant.”

So, here I am. Down to 28 days. Here we go!