CD1. That’s Condoms, Day 1, not Cycle Day 1.
Yesterday, after reporting on my appointment, I played around on condomania. It’s a pretty cool site, and, like the nurse practitioner said, “no more raunchy than a bachelorette party.” What I learned, though, is that most specialty condoms are about a dollar a pop. Times one year = $365. So it looks like we’ll be going a cheaper route – does anyone know what brands they sell in bulk at Costco?
I had taken a little handful of free, basic condoms from the OBGYN office, and, despite Doug’s protest that “the hormones are probably still in there protecting us for a few more days,” we tried one last night.
I feel like I should point out that we’ve used condoms a total of one time before now, and that, on that occasion, we both agreed we hated it and took it off halfway through the act. So how easily we agreed to make them our primary/only form of birth control now is kind of amazing. And kind of beyond me.
“See, it’s not too bad, right?” I asked Doug after a few minutes. He agreed that it wasn’t. That first time we’d tried this, post-pregnancy-pre-Mirena, it had felt like I was getting fucked by a balloon. Maybe my disastrous emotional state soured the experience. Or maybe we’d gotten the wrong size. Either way, this time felt more comfortable and familiar, like a throwback to my early 20s. And I’ve been saying since I met my ex-husband that I wished I could go back to college.
A little while later, though, Doug complained that it wasn’t working for him. My heart sank. I have no back-up plan for my back-up plan.
Eventually though, after some intense focus and jackhammering, it did, um, work.
“Hey, and we don’t have to worry about making a mess!” Doug said afterwards.
Nothing left to do but acquire more condoms and hope that, with practice and the evil hormones leaving my body, it gets easier.