Lift Those Legs

To lift or not to lift? That has been the topic of my informal interview with my pregnant friends (in other words, all but five of my friends. “You have more than five friends?” you might ask. “Har har” I might respond)

I’ve come across several contradictory pieces of advice in my quest to become pregnant. The latest has been about lifting your legs right after sex so the swimmers get a little help from gravity. I wasn’t sold on this technique until one fateful night of insomnia led me to a TVLand rerun of Roseanne where she rolled off Dan (not pretty) and raised her legs over her head. Since then, I’ve asked around and the results have been a pretty even split. Since I’m still not pregnant, I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.

It may not hurt, but it sure is a pain in the ass. I found out early on that it’s tiring to hold your legs up for the required 15 minutes. So I created a sort of spin move where my feet rested on the wall behind the bed while I laid there like an idiot. Alas, it didn’t work.

A few weeks ago B and I were at a friend’s house having dinner when we found out the great news that they are expecting #2! While drinking a beer (HA! Bet all you preggos wish you could drink a nice cold one) I asked her if she lifted her legs after sex. She said she did and strongly encouraged me to keep doing it. Here’s how the rest of the conversation went and why B thinks they’re going to upgrade to smarter friends.

ME: Really? Ugh. Fine, I’ll keep doing it, but it’s a pain in the ass.
HER: It’s not that bad. I just have a pillow next to me so I’m ready.
ME: A pillow? What size pillow. (How many do I stack to get my legs that high?)
HER: Just a small decorative one.
ME: That’s all? How does that work?
HER: It’s fine. You just need to raise your pelvis a little bit.
ME: (furrowed brow)
HER: (laughing) yeah, it’s not like you need to lift your legs up over your head or anything.
ME: (loooong pull on beer)
HER: um. You’re not lifting your legs all the way up, are you?
ME: (another looooong pull on beer)

On the car ride home I recounted the conversation for B who reminded me that when I started with the Cirque de Soleil wall maneuvers he asked if I thought his guys were going to make a wrong turn and head towards my knee. (to which he got The Look that when given to a husband can mean anything from “Hit the couch” to “DO NOT tell that story!” to “we all heard that fart now quickly say YOU did it so everyone stops looking at me!”)

I wonder if there is an IQ requirement for having kids.