How many of you remember what your wore the night you conceived your children?

Maybe a LBD for your anniversary? A new La Perla set you happily purchased for a special date night? A bridesmaids dress at your best friend's wedding? Or maybe your favorite pair of jeans on a randomly frisky Tuesday night? 

Or maybe you don't remember at all. Because, for most, it's an insignificant detail. 

But I'm not most.  

And this is what I wore.

The unofficial uniform for the sorority that is IVF- a little sheath paired with thick socks and a hat made of netting. With nothing underneath- because I guess we're just easy like that.

Yes, this is what we wear on our big night- or, most often, day. The one where we hope to get lucky.

And while it might not look like much, it cost a pretty penny. Probably more than that La Perla bralette; maybe more than that wedding dress that worked on your first night as husband and wife.

But it was worth every cent.

And even though I didn't spend hundreds or thousands on a pretty little outfit or a date night at Carbone; and while, objectively, it's not the prettiest- that getup we conceive our children in is one of my favorites.

And if you are what you wear, then that little number is one of the strongest, sexiest, badass mama get ups I've got. And it took tears and courage and sacrifice to be able to wear it. Especially on the times it was hopefully donned, only to find it was just a dress rehearsal.

And while I don't know quite yet if it got me Number Two, I'll gladly wear it again if need be. Because it's a sign of hope; and that we're almost on our way to being complete. 

And over the past few years, since becoming a wife and mother and fertility fighter, it's clear that my definition of sexy has changed. It's no longer as simple as lingerie and little black dresses. 

My idea of love and intimacy and passion has grown. And so much of that can be explained in this picture- of that sheath and thick socks and hat made of netting.

Because there have been times in the past few years battling infertility where I've felt left out; from the conversations my {mostly single} friends have- the one's where they wax poetic about a passionate kind of love.

We don't rip each other's clothes off too often anymore. We typically don't make out in bars or cars or at late night parties. We don't have reckless abandon when it comes to making love. We don't pick out sexy get ups on the night we're trying to conceive.

But while the passion between my husband and I may look different, this photo proves it's there. That, I can promise you. Even if it doesn't look it. Because any man that holds their wife's hand and tells her she's beautiful while wearing this uniform has abundant passion for her: for their family; for their children- both here or frozen or gone before meeting.

For their life together.

And after so many years- of marriage of motherhood, of trying to conceive- I get that now.

And I'm happy to say it's ours.