Especially when you have the same Valentine for 8 years.
For three years in a row, Louie did the same thing for me every Vday. He would make me the WORST fettuccine alfredo and I would be like “SERIOUSLY? More cardboard noodles? Why do you hate me?”. Finally, the next year, I reminded him. Please, please, please no more fettuccine alfredo. Please. He listened and now we usually get pizza and pass out on the couch.
We’re totally romantic.
This Valentines day is going to be a hoot. Not only does Louie work from 2-1am, which means that we have only early morning Vday to hang out, but poor guy sleeps until 12 and I’m already gone. Normally I would be totally bummed, but this time it’s different.
Our Valentines day will be spent in a doctors office. Specifically, San Diego Fertility. I don’t know how I managed to overlook the day when I was making the appointment, but I did. It’s our initial consult, our first visit to the place that will probably be responsible for expanding our family. Kind of romantic, right?
After our failed attempt at getting pregnant on a round of clomid, which I responded to well, we found out that it was going to take a little more coaxing for our bodily fluids to make a person.
We have been back and forth about when the right time to start real fertility treatments are. The only person truly inconvenienced by treatments is going to be me. All louie has to do is make it into a cup and keep it body temperature. I’ve got to show up and spread eagle and then hang upside down by my feet for an hour. Or at least thats what I’m imaging this process to look like. I can see it now, I’m strapped down to a bed with a tube in my vagina. God know’s I’ll be all whacked out on Xanax and making awkward conversation with anyone who will engage me.
Hi, so thanks for doing this doc. I mean, its like we’re doing something magical here. You know? You’re like the guy who gave me a baby. I’ll tell my kids all about the day they were conceived, with the bright lights and hospital gowns and then the man who made it all possible came in with a turkey baster and changed my life forever.
Excuse me nurse? Do most people wax their vaginas before they get here? Because I did. I didn’t want to scare anyone. But I’m not sure what the trends are now. Next time should I have a landing strip, should I wax the doctors initials as a “thank you”, can you please just let me know what the protocol for this type of thing is??
If it even works. I’m kind of counting on it working. I hate hospitals, procedures, appointments, anything where people are expecting me to be there on time.
Yes, I am excited to find out what this process is going to entail, but at the same time I’m dreading hearing something like, “You’ll need to get a needle in your ass every day for 10 days then show up here at 6am for more needles, except this time they go into your vagina.” Those kind of statements send me into a panic.
If I’m not already enough of a hypochondriac, this process will send me over the top. Poor Jeanette, she’s going to block my number. I send her texts at 1am like this: “Yo. I refuse to google whats wrong with me. I think I’ve got a swollen lymph node and I need to know if I should come down and visit you at the ER.”
Thank God she doesn’t respond and then I fall asleep. I mean really, how much more can she handle?
I think about all the months we tried to get pregnant and look back and laugh. We would have had a kid by now if our bodies weren’t such assholes. How is it that every person on my Facebook can get knocked up and yet two people who have a stable relationship, financial stability and the best support system in the world can’t do something that is like- the one thing people are physically built for? Maybe I should start doing meth, that seems to help people get pregnant.
I started out hopefully and excited, then I was determined and ready to make it happen and now I feel frustrated and bitter. I’m sure new emotions are just around the corner, but I hate bitter. Bitter is the worst. I love kids, I love birth, I love pregnancy. I don’t want to stop loving these things just because my uterus is busted.
Yesterday I was like,
Hey Louie, does this shirt make me look fat? I mean, is my stomach like bulging out?
*patting my belly* Hello little baby bump? When are you due?
Then I run away crying.
I always joke about my belly being a 3 month belly. I won’t look pregnant until I’m at least 6 months along, and it drives me crazy. Normally we laugh about it, but yesterday I was ready to punch him in the face. He had no idea I wasn’t in the mood for jokes, but man did he pay for it. He made up for it by being a sweetheart the rest of the night and that made me forget that even though my belly looks like its full of baby, its really just those rolled tacos.
My stomach is ridiculous, it really does look like I have a baby belly. I feel like its mocking me. I get naked and its like “Hey bitch, don’t you wish there was a reason I look so fluffy and enticing? Don’t you wish I wasn’t just a bunch of pizza and Xanax?” And I’m like, “Fuck you”.
And that’s why I hate taking showers.