We use the 'Fertility Friend' website.
That's all well and good, we can record the daily temperatures and keep track of all the other relevant details of a cycle. Every month we end up with a wonderfully colourful and complicated graph with dots and lines and trends and numbers and letters and bells and whistles.
All of which combine to tell us how tremendously normal, yet overwhelmingly unpregnant, we are. It really makes you feel extra special to see a sarcastically graphic representation of your own uselessness.
One of the details you can record on there are the days you have sex. (With each other.)
That, right there, may well be the first time I've ever used that term here, and for a good reason. It's one of the many, many terms you can use to describe the act itself.
You could call it shagging, or humping, or riding, or screwing, or copulating, or making love, or horizontal jogging, or indeed any one of a hundred terms ranging from the graphic and crude, to the suggestive and cute.
With all these marvellous phrases at their disposal, what do our Fertility Friend buddies choose to use to denote the act?
BD, or 'Baby Dance'.
I'm aware that not everyone wants to use the cruder terms for the squelchy sessions, but what sort of a demented walking talking head injury victim came up with that particular vomit inducing beauty?
It's not a dance. There are no tuxedos or ball gowns, there is no grand entrance, and there are no marks out of ten. Thankfully.
It's rarely graceful or stylish, you don't normally cover all four corners of the room, and frankly, you'll be lucky if it lasts as long as the average waltz.
You can forget about having two consecutive attempts, or swapping partners, and I'm yet to see anyone on 'Dancing with the stars' shuffle naked across the bed on their knees to reach for a cushion to shove under their partner's backside.
Adding 'baby' to the name doesn't help, it's not like you are going to forget what you're doing. I get the vision of the words 'baby dance' in my head in shades of pink or powder blue and I hear twinkle twinkle little star on repeat in my brain.
Talcum powder, knitted blankets, and nappies all spring to mind. Edible underwear, does not.
Get a grip Fertility Friend people, or I may be tempted to send your offices a baby explosive device in the post, or baby beat your CEO around the face and throat with a golf club.