Here is an excerpt of my story from Yearning for Magic: Spiritual Journeys of a Mother, Healer and Lover:

On our last summer vacation to Tinos, a month before I became pregnant, we purchased the tin-plated card of a baby from the Tinos church, a sacred place. Greek Orthodox believers crawled on their hands and knees to the Tinos church after they were granted their wishes: a husband, a healthy baby, better eyesight, safe travels. They climbed up the steep road to the large church on the hill with a carved marble bell tower, then finally up a broad white marble staircase to kiss the gold and jeweled icon inside the left side of the nave. Such a practical religion. Devotees paid their penance after receiving their miracles. I prepared myself mentally for the climb up to Panagia Evangelistria, the church of the Virgin Mary, on our hands and knees, if needed, to honor our

successful request.

We kept having sex when I ovulated. It was a desperate kind of sex, mechanical, scheduled. After sex, I would prop my butt up high, imagining the one great athlete, the hero sperm making the journey to the moon, finding my egg, pulling into its orbit to make life. We tried the turkey baster, gave the sperm a running start, and saved them a few sperm miles of their great journey. Even that didn’t work.