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OvuSense Review Part 3: Mr. Spermy Is Going into the Trash!

Well hello there, friend! Long time no OvuSense review, eh? I can’t believe it has been 5 months since I wrote my last review for this contraption that is “according to their research” suppose to boost your odds of conception by leaps and bounds. In my defense though, four days after publishing that hilariously review (OvuSense Review Part 2: Oh No! Did It Get Lost Up There) my colon ruptured due to an infected diverticula and I spent my entire summer either in the hospital or on complete bed rest. Needless to say, OvuSense was not being used and Mr. Spermy was furthest from my mind. In fact, my trusty nightly companion was so far out of my mind that I forgot why I had even teased you at the end of my last review with the title, “Mr. Spermy Goes into the Trash!”

That is until I started using it again a few weeks ago…

Because friends, as I held Mr. Spermy in my hands for the first time in ages, all of the intense emotions came rushing back to me as I remembered that one specific morning five months ago when I nearly lost my…

But before I tell you the reason I almost lost my….errr…cool…and Mr. Spermy was on his way out the door snug as a bug in a white kitchen trash bag with the words “good riddance” written on it, let me explain to you how OvuSense works.

First of all, you take the medical-grade sensor (which I have named Mr. Spermy because he looks like a giant sperm) and you insert it into your va-jay-jay much like you would a tampon. The sensor than stays in overnight as it records your core temperature while you snore, drool, and toss and turn all while dreaming of babies. In the morning after you wake up sad because the babies in your dream are not really your babies (some of you feel me on this one) you remove the Sensor and download its data to the OvuSense App. Once connected, the app then uses patented technology to predict and then confirm ovulation with 99% clinically proven accuracy! Crazy cool, right?

Well, It is.

Until you can’t get your Sensor to download the information it collected.

Y’all, everything was going honky dory five months ago until one morning I woke up, took ol’ Mr. Spermy out of his comfy home (aka…my va-jay-jay) and stuck it to the back of my phone (of course after washing him off first) for it to download his knowledge. Yes, you read that right; in order to download the information, you need to stick Mr. Spermy to the back of your phone (see picture). I know it seems kinda gross and if you are a “germ-a-phob” this might not be the device for you, but if you just don’t think about it, and you block out the thought of where it has been, it’s really no big deal. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. And I tell others when they ask to borrow my phone, or I give it to them to hold in order for them to watch a funny video or I request that they look at a Facebook meme I find hilarious.

But back to the point of this post…

On that early summer morning while still rubbing the boogers out of my eye, Mr. Spermy started to become defiant. Much like the middle school children I used to counsel back in my social work days. You see, I took Mr. Spermy and placed him on the back of my phone to only have the connection become “interrupted,” therefore not allowing the information to be downloaded. No big deal I thought as I then removed him from the back of my phone to try again. However this happened over and over and over again until after nearly 15+ minutes of taking it off, putting it back on, taking it off, putting it back on that it finally worked! Can I get a hallelujah wave offering?

Thank you! But friends, go ahead and put it down because guess what? It did it again the next morning. And then the next. And the next. I felt as though I had to not just find the “sweet spot” on the back of my phone, but also hold my tongue out, pat my head, rub my belly, and tickle my cat all at the same time for it to finally connect.

SO FRUSTRATING! And all this BEFORE my first sip of coffee. No bueno!

But because I am not one to complain, I just kept dealing with it. That is until one morning after wasting 42 minutes of my life (but who is counting) trying to find the “sweet spot” on my phone in order for it to connect and provide the VITAL information I needed, I contacted support and told them I was DONZO! Trying to conceive was already aggravating and frustrating enough. I didn’t need one more thing added to it. ‘Cause…let’s be real…when dealing with infertility…

But y’all, let me just cut to the chase and say that he never ended up in the trash and it’s all because of their awesome five-star customer service! I don’t remember our exact conversation but when I contacted them with my disappointment they suggested a few solutions that I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at because let’s be real, I had already tried every single one…including standing on my head while reciting the Lord’s prayer. And I let them know this in my “not-so-sweet” voice. But to my dismay, they validated my frustration and without hesitation offered to send me a new one within a day.

One day!

Can I get another hallelujah wave offering?

And this time go ahead and keep it up because everything is unicorns and rainbows again! I haven’t had to stand on my head, pat my head, rub my belly, tickle my cat, find the “sweet spot” or recite the Lord’s prayer in order to get my sensor to work. I am instead pleased to report that every night Mr. Spermy does his job collecting the information needed and every morning he does it again as he shares it without any connection issues. But in the event that he does start acting like a fool again, I will simply contact customer service in confidence that the issues will be resolved. And resolved quickly.

My whole point in wanting to write this post is not to gripe and complain about Mr. Spermy not wanting to connect, but to brag and rave about how helpful customer service was to me even when I wasn’t bragging and raving about their product.

I also wanted to point out that it’s not just me who the OvuSense Support Center bends over backwards for, but many others who have from time to time expressed in the closed OvuSense Facebook group their same concerns regarding their device also not wanting to connect (which I later learned was due to a bad batch). I loved reading how each person within the group who voiced their frustration was treated with respect and ultimately sent a new device.

So friends, if you are on the fence about purchasing your own Mr. Spermy because you fear it will break or won’t work properly, thus wasting hundreds of dollars, please know that the OvuSense customer service department is amazing! They will do anything and everything to make sure that you always have a working device in your hand…err…va-jay-jay…because they know that your goal is getting pregnant. And their goal is the exact same.

To snag 20% off your purchase, use BABYBIRD as a coupon code.

 

If you have any further questions regarding OvuSense, please feel free to email me at 10hopeingod@gmail.com. I would be more than happy to tell you my experiences in an honest manner. If there is one thing you should know about me it is this…I am truthful. I am blunt. And I am always, always willing to share my “I will hold nothing back” opinion with you.

To read part one of this review series titled, “I Am to Put This Where?!” click here.

To read part two of this review series titled, “Oh No! Did It Get Lost Up There?!” click here.


I would love to get connected with you on a more personal level, so if you liked this post, pass it on. Then click here to find Waiting for Baby Bird on Facebook, or come follow me on Instagram @waitingforbabybird. I can’t wait to “meet” you!

Waiting for Baby Bird

National Infertility Awareness Week: Taking Off My Mask to #StartAsking

Taking off my mask to StartAsking

For days I have sat staring at a blank computer screen unsure of what I should write for National Infertility Awareness Week. To be quite frank, I wasn’t fond of the theme #StartAsking. In fact, I hated it. But after some soul-searching, I realized it’s because over the last year it has become increasingly difficult for me to ask others for what I want or need. Don’t get me wrong, I am still awesome at making a Christmas wish-list or telling my husband to take out the trash, but to ask for something that fills an emotional void? Or addresses the deepest desire of my heart, which is children?

I can’t do it.

I can’t seem to find the courage to tear down my perfectly constructed wall in order to ask for those things my soul craves. I would much rather be the one to give others what they need in times of heartache when their dreams become shattered. I would much rather whisper words of hope to the hopeless and be the one sending gifts of encouragement to the one who feels defeated. I would much rather be the one praying for the hurting and speaking life to the weary. I would much rather give than receive. Because sometimes receiving requires asking. It requires becoming vulnerable to the other person as you take off your mask and say, “Here I am…”

And I can’t do that.

I find that lately I will do anything to avoid opening myself up and letting others see my wounds. Especially when given the question “how are you?”  Because sometimes when I answer “fine”, I am anything but “fine”. I am weary. I am overwhelmed. I am frustrated. I am angry. I am sad. Even ashamed. I want more than anything to escape this story…this nightmare of a Polycystic Ovarian stricken body that I feel so imprisoned and trapped to be inside of.

There are days I just want to stay in bed and nights when I can’t fall asleep. Who knew making a baby would be this difficult? Or expensive? I constantly catch myself daydreaming about my life before infertility and how much happier I was. I think about how if everything had gone according to my plans how much easier my life would be right now.

But to share with someone else who hasn’t walked this road these thoughts? I can’t. It’s too hard.

It’s become too hard over the last year for me let others who do not “get it” to see my tears, carry my burdens, or try to feel my pain. It’s become too hard for me to share with them my pain because I don’t want them to feel uncomfortable. I don’t want to disappoint them with my wavering faith or have them feel sorry for me. And I don’t want them to tell me something in response that will only make the pain worsen or the fear over my circumstances intensified. Because as it turns out, the longer I wait for my miracle, the more others around me start to doubt and lose hope it will happen. And with their doubt come their words of ‘maybe it’s just not meant to be’. 

*sigh*

It’s become too hard for me over the last year to tell others that I feel deficient, alienated, and unworthy. Because if we are being completely honest, lately when I walk into a room full of mother’s or pregnant women, shame immediately washes over me like a tidal wave. Questions begin to surface that cause my mind to race and my spirit to weaken…

Why can’t my body do what her’s can?

Why do I have to cut out gluten, dairy and soy but they can eat cheeseburgers, pizza and ice cream?

Why hasn’t God answered my prayers that I have been fervently crying out to Him? 

Is it because I am not doing something right? 

Or being punished for something I have done wrong? 

But to voice these questions out loud? To let someone else know of my deepest insecurities? I can’t do that. That’s become too hard. And rightfully so. Because no one ever wants to appear weak. No one ever wants to feel vulnerable or insecure. Or come across as someone who doesn’t have it all together. No one wants to open up their heart, expose their wounds and then risk hearing statements that belittle them or minimize their pain.

I know, because as an infertility blogger, I have fallen victim numerous times to the skewed views and opinions others have toward those struggling to conceive. I have had to read and endure comments that cause my stomach to twist into knots, shame to overwhelm my soul, and tears to fill up my eyes.

“Stop being selfish and just adopt if you want children so bad!”

“I think you need to check yourself into a mental hospital if infertility makes you so upset!”

“Stop being so butt hurt over other people who are normal and can have kids!”

“Infertility isn’t that bad! Other people have it worse!”

“Take it as a clue…God doesn’t want you to have children.”

To say that their comments haven’t taken a toll on me would be a lie. Because the mask I am wearing reveals the truth. It has quieted my voice, hidden my feelings, and pushed down my heartache. But as I write this, I have realized that the more I walk around with this mask on, the more I need to take it off. Because without anyone asking the tough questions and sharing the painful thoughts and emotions infertility stirs up within our soul, how can the stigma be erased? How can we eliminate the isolation it brings? Or expose the lie that infertility is a form of punishment? Or just an inconvenience?

People like to be comforted. To be understood. To be heard. And to undeniably have prayers for a miracle prayed over them. However in order to have that, people also have to be willing to take off their mask and do what they think they can’t. And do what they think is too hard. They have to step out of their comfort zone and be willing to take a risk as they break the silence. Because silence only magnifies the struggle. It only breeds the stigma. And feeds the loneliness. It keeps people believing the lie that they are alone and that their struggle isn’t valid. Or worth mourning.

This is why, today, I am taking off my mask. And I am boldly going to #StartAsking  for what I need. 

And what I need is grace. Grace to be able to decline attending a baby shower invitation without judgment. Grace for when I have to excuse myself from conversations surrounding birth stories and stretch marks. And grace for those moments when I lash out in frustration at the advice given to “just relax” or the suggestion made to “just adopt”.

I also need others to not feel as though they must walk on eggshells around me, afraid to open a wound. But instead feel free to acknowledge my struggle through a hug, a text message, or a gentle whisper of, “I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”

I need my friends to not just say, “Call me if you need to talk” but to call me and say, “Let’s talk.” Because chances are I might not tell you I need encouragement while standing in the midst of a crowd, but I will if we are one on one.

I need those that I pass by in the hallways of church to not just stop me and ask if I am doing okay, but to stop me and ask if they can pray. No other questions asked. Just prayers prayed and hugs exchanged.

I need my husband to look me in the eyes often and ask me how I am doing. And then just hold me when I answer. I need him to share with me his thoughts and his feelings.  I need to know and even see that I am not alone in this, and that he is fighting for our family, for our future, and for our marriage just as hard if not harder than me in prayer.

I need the church to remember me on Mother’s Day. To recognize that this day is hard as it reminds me and so many others of who we are not but want so desperately to become.

And I need for those who have not walked this road to put themselves in my shoes and feel my blisters. To try to understand with compassion and empathy that infertility is not just an inconvenience. It’s a disease of the reproductive system that affects 1 in 8 couples. And like any other disease, it’s frustrating. It’s gut-wrenching. And it’s depressing. It’s like a grave that keeps following you around day after day as it swallows your hope and buries more of your dreams.

It is walking down the baby aisles and touching the onsies, picking up the booties, and wondering when. And asking why.

It’s loving a child you have never even met. And missing them every day.

It is trying to understand why prostitutes, drug addicts and those who abuse their children are given such blessings. But you? You seem to have to fight and work and struggle beyond your strength and exhaust all of your resources to receive.

It’s hearing the words, “I’m sorry but there is no heartbeat.”

Or expecting to walk out of the hospital with a birth certificate, but instead it’s a death certificate.

It’s a constant war between your body and your soul. A war that you must fight to win daily and a war that is exhausting, yet somehow and in someway, you find the hope to battle on.

That is infertility.

And while it might be heartbreaking, soul crushing, and dream shattering, I know deep down it’s nothing to be ashamed of in my life. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t do anything to deserve it. It’s not some form of punishment or God’s way of telling me He doesn’t want me to be a mother. And so with my mask off, I am going to #StartAsking myself to let go of the guilt. Let go of the embarrassment. And let go of the stigma society has placed on me, someone who is 1 in 8.

I am strong. I am brave. I am unashamed. And because I am all of these things, I am boldly going to #StartAsking.

And sweet sister, if you are also 1 in 8, know that it is okay to step out and #StartAsking too. There are over 7 million men and women who share the same dream and know the same struggle. You are not alone. And together, we can unashamedly take off our masks and make a difference not only within ourselves, but also within the world around us.

So let’s #StartAsking. And while we are at it, let’s vow together to never #StopAsking. Never #StopAsking for support. For compassion. For understanding. And most of all, for the miracle we need. Because if you are like me, it’s hard to keep asking when each time you have prayed, the answer has been no. It’s hard to keep getting on your knees when the constant disappointment has caused you to over time pull back on the reins of hope because you don’t want to feel the sting of being let down again. I get it. I, too, have found myself not asking as often. But I still can’t help but believe that the pain we feel, the dead-end roads we have faced, and the dreams we have buried with our tears, are all ingredients for the miracle we are begging so hard to receive. I know, it sounds crazy, right? But if you hadn’t noticed, there is rarely ever a miracle without first the overwhelming pain of a problem. A problem that is full of heartache and frustration that causes tears, sleepless nights, disappointments and intense grief. So hold on. Don’t become too discouraged after another failed cycle. Or allow fear to creep into your thoughts. Instead, have hope. Hope that things could change. And then mix it with faith. Faith to believe they will. Because I can’t help but think your problem and my problem is simply creating the perfect breeding ground for a miracle. A miracle that God has proven time and time again He can perform.

With LoveI would love to connect with you on a personal level, so if you liked this post, pass it on. Then come find Waiting for Baby Bird on the public Facebook page or join me on Instagram @waitingforbabybird. I can’t wait to “meet” you!If you are looking for a faith-based infertility community of other women who just “get it”, then head over to the *PRIVATE* Waiting for Baby Bird Support group for hope + encouragement. There you will find opportunities to ask for prayer, watch *LIVE* encouragement videos from me, author of “Waiting for Baby Bird,” as well as be able to share your heart with others on the same path, enter into exclusive giveaways, and so much more! So what are you waiting for? Find us here!

Waiting for Baby Bird

To the Childless Woman at Walmart

Walmart Sign

To the childless woman at Walmart…

I saw you as we stood together in check out lane number three. I was holding the precious hand of my foster child and trying to talk her out of the ring pops and candy bars. We made eye contact, you and me, before you smiled at her and then looked down at your feet.  My heart sank when I saw the look in your eyes. I know that look. I have seen it in my reflection. I know all to well the thoughts and emotions you have in these types of moments. Especially the moment when she called me mommy. Oh how I wished you hadn’t heard. I cringed as I watched you grip your cart tighter because I knew what you felt. You felt fear sweep over you like a tsunami wave as you wondered if you would ever carry the title “mommy.” You felt doubt wrap you up like a blanket as you questioned your life and the desires you have in your heart. And you felt shame as you thought you must have done something awful to deserve this form punishment. This punishment to not have a child. A child to call your own.

There were so many times in those three minutes that you and I stood together in which I wanted to lean in and whisper in your ear. I wanted to tell you that I understood your pain. Your doubts. Your fears. Your insecurities. And I wanted you to know that you are not alone. Because I know the longing you have in your heart. I know the words that are probably in your nightly prayers. I know the dreams you dream that feel shattered and the plans you have made that seem pointless. I know them.

Because I know all too well what it is like to wait for those two lines. I know what it is like to hear the words, “You will miscarry.” And I know what it feels like to doubt your faith. And question your dreams. And to lose hope. But then to walk the long heavy road back to hope. So I get it. I know.

But that’s not all I wished I had told you. I wished I had leaned in and whispered that you are not forgotten. I know it felt that way when you listened to her giggle as I tickled the back of her neck, but God sees you. He hasn’t cast you away.  He hasn’t forgotten you. He also isn’t mad at you. Or ignoring you. I know it feels that way as each month your prayers seem to go unanswered. But just like Hannah did in the Bible, keep pouring your soul out to Him. Keep coming to Him with your hurts. Because He hears the cries of your heart and even though you can’t see Him working, He is.  He isn’t twiddling His thumbs or taking a break from your problems. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t birth the dream of you one day being called “mommy” if He wasn’t making plans to see it come true. So don’t lose hope. And don’t hold back those tears I know you will shed when you finally reach your car. It’s okay to let them fall. Because not one tear will drop without it landing safely in the palm of His hand.

I wished I had told you all of these things. I wished I would have shared with you my heart. But I didn’t. Instead I watched you turn your cart around and with tears in your eyes, move to another line–a much longer line. And it was in the moments that followed, while waiting for my turn, that I realized I couldn’t let you leave. I couldn’t let you go home with the image of a happy mother and daughter. The image of a perfect family. And so I needed to find you. I needed to tell you my story. I needed you to know that you are not alone. You are not an outcast, a leper, that no one understands. You are not a product of your past mistakes nor are you being punished for your past sins.  I needed you to know that. And I needed you to know that despite your loose grip, you should still fight to hold on to your dreams.

But as I looked around and searched the checkout lanes and roamed the parking lot, I realized you were gone. You were gone and with you carried that painful image. And what you will never know is that your perception of my reality, is still my dream. And the pain you have, I know.

So to the childless woman at Walmart, the one in check out lane number three, I may not know your name and I may not have been able to wrap my arms around you and ease your worries, silence your fears, or give you new hope for your dreams or more faith to watch them grow; but I know the One who does and I know the One who can and I know the One who is willing. So don’t give up on Him. Don’t stop pouring out your heart and bringing Him your tears. And please, don’t let go of the dreams He has placed in that soft, fertile soil of your heart. Hold on to them tight. But if you do feel them slipping and you need someone to give you encouragement to keep holding on, then let me. Because I have faith to believe that your story isn’t finished yet. And that one day, through Him, you will hear the precious voice of a child, your child, call you Mommy as you stand waiting in check out lane number three.

Until then my friend, I will continue to look for you. I will continue to scan the aisles. And I will continue to pray that the precious voice and sweet giggles of a little one begging you for a ring pop or candy bar or that nasty sour punch liquid that is sticky and just gets everywhere, is not too far away.

With Love


II would love to connect with you on a personal level, so if you liked this post, pass it on.Then come find Waiting for Baby Bird on the public Facebook page or join me on Instagram @waitingforbabybird. I can’t wait to “meet” you!If you are looking for a faith-based infertility community of other women who just “get it”, then head over to the *PRIVATE* Waiting for Baby Bird Support group for hope + encouragement. There you will find opportunities to ask for prayer, watch *LIVE* encouragement videos from me, author of “Waiting for Baby Bird,” enter into exclusive giveaways, as well as be able to share your heart with others on the same path, and so much more! So what are you waiting for? Find us here!