By Kim Blakely, Mojo’s mama
Things I have tried in my endeavor to get knocked up …
1. Sex in the “right” positions, at the “right” time (as determined by fertility charting and ovulation predictor kits)
2. Supplements – everything from Vitamin B to False Unicorn Root.
3. Surgery, which simultaneously diagnosed and treated an awful case of endometriosis.
4. So-called relaxation. (I’m sure vacations and extra sleep that don’t hurt, but let’s face it: The challenged among us aren’t going to get pregnant just by taking a trip to the seashore.)
5. Stimulation drugs – Clomid. Ick. (Enough said.)
And now, I’m going to add # 6 – South Beach Diet – to my repertoire.
I could stand to lose some weight, but that’s, of course, too normal a motivating factor to … well, motivate someone like me. It doesn’t hurt that I’ve heard the South Beach diet talked up as a lifestyle by a friend who’s a cardiologist, but honestly I’m not sure even the possibility of a longer life-span would be enough to convince me to give up bread and chocolate. Simply put, I’m taking on the challenge because insulin-resistance can cause infertility.
The thing is, I’ve worried for a long time that maybe I have a glucose problem, although I don’t have any of the classic signs that point to it. When I was pregnant with Mojo and almost failed my glucose tolerance test, and although I squeaked by without being slapped with a gestational diabetes rap, it was close enough to make me wonder …
Yeah, yeah, I know. I could just go to my doctor and get an actual diagnosis, and I will most likely do that because I finally caved and called our insurance company today about infertility coverage. That experience was, as I knew it would be, as fruitless as the first phase of the South Beach Diet. Our plan covers precious little that would further my efforts to bring home a bundle of joy, no other plan is available to us, and to make matters worse, I discovered that I’m required to get a referral from my primary care physician as opposed to my ob/gyn.
These things take time, so in the meanwhile – I’m South Beach bound. With [a LOT of] luck, I’ll lose a little weight and then gain it all back and then some – all in the belly.
In other news, Mojo is decidedly opposed to preschool. I did leave without him on the first day, both of us in tears. He cried off and on all day, and when I picked him up his face was smeared with ink from the stamp his teacher put on the back of his hands between bouts of sobbing.
On Thursday, he cried all the way to school, begging me to please not make him go. Mean mama that I am, I did. And when I picked him up, his teacher told me he had a good day and he agreed that he’d had fun.
But he still says he’s not going back. Neither of us is looking forward to drop-off time.