I think this one is it.
Do I think that every time? Maybe last time I did. One time before that I remember us being pretty certain Heather wasn’t pregnant, almost from the first. One other time I got religion in the form of thinking positive from The Essential Guide, forcing Heather to participate in visualizations: “Imagine the embryo snuggling into your uterine lining, making a comfortable home there, attaching firmly.” It didn’t pay off.
Mostly what I remember is being disappointed over and over till I stopped hoping altogether. That’s why it comes as a surprise that I feel positive (the pun is unintended but unavoidable) on this, our seventh try. How can I justify any hope or optimism after six failures? The donor is well qualified, just like all the others, and we were patient in timing the inseminations. Still, you can have a gorgeous cervix, the recommended rotisserie rotation (15 minutes on each side as the sperm swirls about Heather’s vaginal canal, burrowing into her fertile mucus), and vials of sperm from a guy who’s impregnated five other women, and somehow things just don’t line up. Was the sperm at its optimum temperature when her cervix was at its optimum openness? Was it? We don't know till there's a cup of pee and a stick on the counter.
Heather told me that she didn’t have any of her usual cramps, which is handy but could just be a result of skipping out on Nurse Nina’s catheter invasion. I haven’t heard anything about breast pain or headaches or unusual fatigue. There are no cravings, and Heather isn’t any more cantankerous than usual. I should enjoy it, but I catch myself rounding up the days, acting like Friday is so close to Sunday that we’re pretty much a week from testing. Five days is not seven, especially when there’s no point in testing early and these two weeks might be all we have.
Last Thursday, a co-worker brought his wee new son to the store to show off, and everyone was delighted. I mean, some of the guys were iffy about it, but I’m pretty sure most of the ladies wanted to hold him. He was sleepy and had a little crocodile t-shirt on; I don’t think he noticed any of us. I wondered if his mama felt uncomfortable with strangers holding her new son, but my natural misanthropy went underground as I imagined having an infant to show off at work. Uncle Rick, Uncle Robert, Auntie Renee, all trying to tickle the baby’s feet…
Please let this be the one.