Late Night Baby

2 - The Struggle

A very angst chapter - cw // infertility , difficulty in conceiving , PTSD, hurt

Except, it wasn't that month or the month after or the month after that. Before you knew it, eighteen months had passed by, and there was still no baby in sight.

"Why do they always do that?!" Ronnie complained, clearly irritated after spending the evening with your parents as you both prepared to turn in for the night.

You glanced at your disheartened reflection in the bathroom mirror. "They don't know any better, Ronnie," you sighed, finishing your teeth before climbing into your marital bed.

"Yeah? Well, it's still fucking rude."

You had lost count of the number of times you had cried from innocent, well-meaning questions, that when your parents started quizzing you about kids, it caused a near, all-consuming rage to build inside of Ronnie. Mainly because he knew those types of questions upset you, partly because it reminded him of his lack of control over the situation and, ultimately, his failure in providing you with a baby.

"Well, maybe if we opened up about it and told them we were having trouble conceiving, they'd be more understanding?"

"Uh-uh. No way," Ronnie objected with a dismissive wave of his hand as he joined you in bed. "I know exactly what they're like. They'll be flooding us with research studies and unwanted advice."

He was right, and you knew it. "Okay! Fine. It was only a suggestion," you snapped, holding back tears. "But we've been trying for eighteen months now... so, maybe it's about time you got checked?"

You loathed bringing up the subject, knowing the response it caused, but at this point, you were running out of options.

"Not this again... I've told you. I don't need to be checked. I'm not broken!"

"Ronnie! I never said you were broken," you exasperated, beyond frustrated with the situation. "But it might just give us some answers so that we can move forward, that's all."

"Well, stop talking to me like I'm damaged then, and maybe I'll think about it."

After spending far too much time and money on tests at your ob-gyn, you were assured that your fertility was fine, but each month was the same. The two-week wait between ovulation and menstruation was a messy wave of stress and hope, only to be met with a negative pregnancy test at the end of it.

You felt utterly powerless. You were doing everything you could to help assist conception. You made all the recommended lifestyle changes; you cut out caffeine, changed your diet, took a magnitude of vitamins, and still, it wasn't enough.

Now, that wasn't to say that Ronnie wasn't trying either. He also ate right, kept active, and cut out alcohol; he was just as desperate as you for a family that he went along with the majority of your requests. When you read studies about testicle temperature and semen quality, he even agreed to avoid hot tubs and tight underwear in an attempt to keep his balls cool.

His only issue was talking about the problem. Hell, you weren't even sure if he spoke to Paul about it. Communication with Ronnie had become difficult, often resulting in arguments, especially when discussing having his sperm analyzed.

"Anyway," you murmured hesitantly, changing the subject. "I'm... um, ovulating."

Ronnie grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake."

"No, it's fine. I don't even want to look at you anyway."

"Then, rollover," he huffed, lifting his black undershirt over his head before working down his body to remove his boxers.