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.
Moody? You bet.
Worth it? You better believe it.