Sperm toy squeezing, track marks, and other joys


This morning I was encouraged to squeeze a sperm to raise my track marks. Don’t worry, I haven’t turned to a life of crime. It was all in the name of making a baby.
The fertility clinic lab tech handed me a sperm shaped stress toy to squeeze so she could better access my overly-taxed veins.
I laughed so hard I barely felt the needle.
I needed a good laugh.
These are the last days of my infertility cycle.
And I find myself laughing at…
My hormone-induced quick temper flares (Don’t cross me this week. It ain’t pretty.)
Mushy cooing over all things sentimental (that commercial with the Olympic hopefuls and their moms is so beautiful).
And forgetfulness. (Damn it! Where did I park again? What is this WiFi device for? What day is it? Who are you again?)
Thank God my mom is here helping out this week. She’s kept the kiddo well entertained and well fed. She even remembered where the heck I parked.
All this mommy love has freed me up to appreciate this business of journeying further into motherhood.
Crampy? Sure.
Moody? You bet.
Worth it? You better believe it.


About domesticpolichick

My life is a crazy jumble of sitcom-level domestic hijinks and fast-paced political reporting in the nation's capital. Breastfeeding while doing a phone interview with a senator...yep, I've done it and no, I won't reveal the name. Toddler calling a member of Congress on the cell..yeah, that really did happen. Pregnant in high heels on Capitol Hill trying to chase down a particularly grumpy senator, yeah...that was nuts. But what can I say? I'm just one domestic polichick trying to figure out the work-life balance.
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