Friday night, and our biggest excitements are laundry, moving appliances, and texting Nina. There might be a frozen pizza in the mix, if we really believe.
If everything plays out as it should, tomorrow morning we'll see an egg with a dot in it on the fertility monitor, text Nina, and meet at the clinic at 8. And then, of course, we'll see a pink line on a stick two weeks later and a few months later have a wee, sweet baby. That's how things should play out.
Of course, there might not be an egg/dot, so we'd delay till Sunday... and if there's no egg/dot Sunday, I guess we send the sperm back. Again.
It's hard to be optimistic. We've had two inseminations without results, then one failed ovulation. Mostly, though, I'm so used to us being in the process, and being disappointed, that I forget there's a possibility that the process will result in a real, honest-to-god baby. We've spent a lot of months consumed with fertility diets, charts, monitors, donors, and mucus, and it's habit now. We see people's babies and talk about how we're excited for when we have one of our own, but we did the same thing a year ago and nothing has changed.
I'm supposed to believe, and I do, in theory. Still, right now all I feel is anxiety about the monitor's results and maybe being late to work if we do go to the clinic. Tomorrow isn't Christmas morning. There are no visions of fat babies dancing in my head. Here's hoping that we'll wake up to a pink line in a few weeks.
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