Dear sperm,

I am writing to inform you of the extreme skill and effort it took to get you into my vagina yesterday in hopes you will take that into account when deciding how long to stay there.

You see, not everyone can find the courage and strength to bone while sleeping in the toy room at the in-laws’ lake house with 15 family members eating breakfast in the next room. But we did, sperm, we did. And we did it, literally, as our six nieces and nephews banged on our door begging to come in and play on the rocking horse. Why on earth they care so much about a damn rocking horse or, better yet, why on earth the only childless couple in the family is continuously forced to sleep in the toy room while the other couples get private cozy bedrooms is beyond me. Such cruel irony. But nevertheless, dear sperm, we got you where you needed to be.

We knew it was the only way. We knew that later in the afternoon, my husband would be traveling out of town and I would be traveling back home and that it would be the last moments we’d have alone before I ovulate tomorrow or Wednesday. Yes, I know that is a long time to hang out up there and that you are bored and have nothing to do. But damn it, read a book or something. Because you are our one and only shot this month, pardon the pun.

And so, dear sperm, before you find yourself tempted to swim toward the light and make this month like all the months before. Before you decide to become an indistinguishable smudge on my underwear and my calendar. Please consider that you could be so much more than the sperm that made its way into my vaj while 6 kids yelled outside the door. You could be the one doing all the yelling.

With hope,

The lady attached to your new digs