This month has been a cliff hanger. A nail biter. A (ok, I’ll stop). I write to you today from the dining “room” table, which is resplendent with an unruly array of winter squash. (That reminds me, if you need a good laugh and you aren’t averse to a few choice words, check out this timely essay.) I can barely focus because of the lurching nausea and the constant heartburn. It’s T-2, and I’m a wreck. It’s really no surprise if you know me at all. Queen of nerves over here. Queen.of.nerves.
The first week of the TWW is so much easier than the second. In the first week we can just relax and enjoy the week free of decision making and appointments. In the second week, things start to get serious again because we have to gear up for the next cycle. By the first day of her period we need to have the prescription for Clomid and an HCG injection in place and we have to order the donor sperm well in advance to avoid paying the exorbitant rush shipping fees. So we are left in this weird place in which we are supposed to still be hopeful and optimistic but we have to plan for a failed cycle. It’s not the most pleasant place to be, but it’s really a luxury problem. In fact, when I re-read this paragraph, I decided it could easily be a contender for White Whine. Please forgive my self-indulgent rants. I know that the world is full of serious, harrowing problems. Real nail biters that aren’t self-imposed. I’m off to work, and I hope by the end of the day I’ll have contributed just a little toward improving this beautiful planet we call home.