Heather's breasts hurt.
Is this a big deal? Is it fantasy? Who fantasizes about breast pain? The answer to the last question is: crazy-ass, pregnancy-obsessed lesbians.
What's a little heart-breaking, though, is that Heather, who was so overcome with certainty of insemination success on our first try-- "Somebody has to get pregnant the first time; it just might be us"-- has lost any enthusiasm about testing. We used to be giddy in anticipation of that plus sign, but now we just sigh with anticipation of the negative.
I got a message on Facebook from a fellow inseminating lady, asking for ICI advice, and I was delighted to help, but immediately humbled, thinking that I had no business giving advice when we'd failed each time. I can say with certainty that headlamps are awesome and cellphones take much better pictures of the cervix than regular cameras, but after that I feel like I should follow each sentence with a disclaimer: "Now, practicing with a syringe is a good idea, but we're still not pregnant so maybe you should get your partner to do a headstand and squirt the sperm into the air above her." That might meet with more success than our efforts have.
I don't want to give her bad advice, but what scares me is that we've learned a lot about ICI-- certainly about how you don't want to get $100-worth of sperm on your carpet (room for female genitalia joke here)-- and all of it is for nothing. At first we were stupid and awkward, but now we're experienced and pretty comfortable with the process. Why doesn't that mean anything? There are only so many times you can say "It's a crap-shoot" and "It's just about timing." Each time it might be true, but it doesn't feel any better.
I hope that our Facebook friend succeeds the first time so that she and her partner don't ever have to dread testing, or start budgeting for more sperm during the two-week-wait. I also hope that so I don't look like an amateur jackass. And I really, really hope Heather is pregnant and we can remember that hope pays off.