It's kind of like singing along to the radio in your car. You're jamming, all by yourself, not sure if your voice sounds good, or if it's just your own ego. Eventually, some of the people driving by you notice that you're singing. They might think you're completely lame, or they might think "she seems to be having fun."
And why now? Because two days ago I received a large box in the mail, full of vials and needles and pre-loaded pens and my very own wee biohazard container. And for some reason, I thought - I need to chronicle this. Trying to conceive can be lonely (sexytime notwithstanding), and we often find ourselves on the internet, looking for answers to the questions we're afraid to ask our doctors, or the encouragement we need to get on our feet (or on our backs...) and try again after months of negative pee tests.
My intent is for this blog to be about: life as a not-so-fertile person, bouncing back from an ectopic pregnancy, the absurd side of trying to conceive, and a realistic look at ART for the curious and wary. I'm not overly sentimental, and I don't do sparkly animated fairies; my goal is to be humorous and helpful, but honest. There are certain phrases I will never use. I'll tell you what they are later. Maybe it's a diary that nobody reads, I dunno.
Anyhoodle - T-minus five days until I give myself the first injection, hopefully without spearing my own spleen like a cocktail weenie.