Nine days is a lot. And the nagging thing is that we have at least seven more days from there before we’re able to find out if the completely invasive procedure that my wife had done last week actually worked. We’re having an ongoing dialogue to try to figure out if we just test when the doctor said we could or if we just let nature run it’s course and see what happens.
I know I’ve mentioned this before, but Amelia is very well read and has studied birthing and pregnancy in great detail, both for personal and professional gain. She knows her body pretty well and probably knows mine better than I do. And I mean in the medical sense, because this ain’t that kind of blog. The thing is, I don’t wait for answers. I hate waiting for answers to texts and I really hate waiting for email responses (from my school especially!), but this is kinda different. I can’t harass someone until they just give in and give me an answer.
Today, if this little procedure worked, a little something called implantation can be happening, if it hasn’t already. I went wifeless to Whirlyball on Sunday, because if a blastocyst was going to be implanting, we didn’t feel like it was probably a good idea for her to be sitting in a bumper car and get rammed several dozen times. That implantation thing is pretty important and typically happens between days 8 and 10. So, you know, anytime.
We’re both completely aware of the statistics with this. We know some people who hit it out of the park the first time they tried IUI and got pregnant right away. We know some people that had to try it a few times before it happened and we know some people that just didn’t have any luck with it at all. Statistics suck, but they’re based on things like science and truth. And that’s cool. Just because we’re gay doesn’t mean our entire life is full of rainbows and unicorns. We’re pretty logical folks, too.
We’re continuing to carry on with our lives like we normally would, except the one of us that isn’t currently acting as an incubator is doing more of the heavy lifting, which included a crap load of shoveling snow last night. I figure by the time Kid #1 moves out, Kid #2 will be old enough to shovel the driveway and I won’t complain about that at all.
If one of y’all could make time go a little bit faster and another one of y’all could just ensure we get the answer we want, I’d totally give you naming rights. Just don’t tell my wife.