One day this past month we hit the fifth anniversary of my chucking my last packet of birth control pills and beginning, instead, to pop a daily prenatal vitamin. Eighteen months of trying to conceive, one pregnancy, eighteen months of breastfeeding, another pregnancy (while still nursing), and six more months (and counting) of breastfeeding later, I am still rattling through one giant bottle of the little capsules after another. Five years on prenatals is nothing compared to what long-term infertility veterans go through, but the image of all those purply-pink pills (oh, and the uncoated nasty yellow ones that made me sick) tumbling through my system impresses me just a little.
And I count myself infinitely lucky to have so much to show for it. I tossed those birth control pills knowing there were no guarantees, knowing I sometimes ovulated no more than once a year. I would never have guessed—and barely dared to hope—what a fruitful five years it would be.