Monday, May 28, 2012
Everything's closed on Memorial Day
That's my new theory: there are clear steps between us and a baby, and I'm making them more torturous than they have to be. My boss loves finding programs for tracking to-do lists, never totally confident that one is sorting each task into the right category and priority level, so every couple of months he'll declare that he's found the perfect system, rope all of us into it, then find something else even more miraculous, and keep himself endlessly entertained. By going along with the interactive online to-do list, I've made my delayed tasks public to everyone-- and none of these programs, that I can tell, has a tab for excuses. Select all that apply: other project came up, supplies were inadequate, project was way more elaborate than expected, people kept standing around my desk...
I wish I could get my shit together to create a tidy to-do list for the baby thing. The Nashville people talk about how they chunk each stage together-- you only worry about Lupron during the initial stages, for example, and you don't have to think about the Follistim or whatever till later. That seems like a nice system. Why can't I put it into place for myself?
Tuesday: E-mail stockbroker. Wait for stockbroker's awkward phone call. Call Dr. King's office to set up AMH test. Get the balls to listen to Therapist Michele's message. Subsequently call NFC nurse with contact information on Memphis fertility clinic which may or may not do our monitoring. Cross fingers.
Sunday: Get toes done.
Thursday: Fill prescriptions for antibiotics and birth control.
Monday: If Heather's period has started, call NFC for instructions.
Tuesday: Send Heather to Dr. King's office for AMH test.
Thereafter: Pharmaceutical chaos.
May 2013: Baby.
Incidentally, I'm giving some serious thought to using AdSense with the blog. It's super-tacky and I don't feel good about it, but I'm about to cash out $6,500 of my savings, and I feel even worse about that. Seriously, fucking sixty-five hundred dollars. We're so close to broke that I told Heather not to get me a birthday present till we've gotten everything paid off, and I love presents.