You know that moment, right? The one that, for most Women, doesn’t come until baby making season has officially begun.
I had been anticipating the moment, for at least a week before it happened. I’d walk to the bathroom and stare at my pill packet, and at the 6 little dots waiting to be swallowed. I only have to take the pill 6 more times. After that I won’t be taking the pill until after… we have a baby.
Well, I can tell you now—I stared at that packet every day: 5 pills left, 4 pills left, 3, 2.
The day arrived. And I get how stupid this sounds. I get it. Because it’s just a silly little pill, right? But on that day, there really was only one more pill to swallow. One more tiny pill to conquer before baby making season could officially begin for us.
I called out to my husband who was ironing his work shirt in the lounge room.
‘Honey. This is my last pill!’
And instead of the, ‘Oh honey, that is just so completely amazing,’ that I’d rehearsed him saying in my head, what did he say? Nothing! He just laughed at me! I left the bathroom and gave him a fake angry stare (because I could never be truly cross with this guy, ever.)
‘Honey! This is so amazing,’ I squealed again, ‘I have been taking the pill for sooooo long and this is the last time I am going to take it for ages!’
Again, he giggled.
I smiled at him because, let’s face it, he is just a bit cute. And what else could I do to plead my case anyway? Even I knew how ridiculous it sounded to be so excited about one tiny pill.
Regardless, I walked back into the bath room, ready to experience ‘my moment’. I took the packet into the palm of my hand, looked into the mirror, and then popped the tiny thing out. I looked at myself in the mirror again and realised, I really am having a moment here. My mind flashed back to when I first began the pill. How apprehensive I was at first—my very young, naïve mind was convinced that the tiny thing was such an invasion on my body.
And here I am now, 10 years later, letting my body go back its natural self once again.