17.3

If y’all remember from way way back (last year at the booniverse some time), 2005 was supposed to be the year of baby q. I haven’t said much about the quest for q because I don’t think y’all really want to know our private business that much (and besides, TheMan would pop a blush vessel if I reported every little detail of our parental crusade – well besides the plain and simple fact that he has one hella fine ass which I’ll say each and every time I get a chance). But if you did want to know our private business that much, then I didn’t expound on it because you really don’t need to know our private business that much. Well, except for the butt thing, that I’ll give as a freebie.

I will, however, give you a general update on the progress thus far (minus the blushy details).

Truly, I was hoping that around this time I’d be able to post a sonogram of developing q and introduce y’all to the going to be newest member of the q lot but alas. Things weren’t in the cards last year and no baby q was forth coming. I’ll admit that the first month was a bust with “Puppy Watch ’05” happening during the prime baby q gettin phase but we had 11 more months of trying. Surely it wouldn’t take but maybe four of those months until we got ourselves a baby q, six at the most. Even given the fact that there were about two months in there when I was reading about the “cyclic activity of a typical woman” and not doing the conversion to the “cyclic activity of a boo woman” (I’m part French Canadian, you know) which was different enough to throw the numbers and timing off, I figured late ’05 would definitely show some results.

Buuuuuut November rolled around and yet again our planning, plotting, observing and acting produced no baby q. It was time to go see the specialist doc for women of advanced child bearing age who have been trying unsuccessfully for a year to produce offspring. Being 35 sucks, yo.

The doc, who is pretty darned cool and has the most unpronounceable name for an off the shelf European looking chick (she has something like 17 letters in her last name, 14 of which are consonants and none of which group up to sound Czech in origin), took a look see at the temperature charts I’d been keeping and said things looked pretty normal there. I was a chart spiking fool, which means that I ovulate (huzzah!) and according to the pattern I do that pretty predictably. The doc asked this question and that question, the answers to which didn’t send up any red flags so she ordered a couple of tests. Three blood work ups to be done at least two different times in my cycle, one something or other fill my womanly parts up with water and have an ultrasound look see at it (to be done at a particular time in my cycle) and one simple test for TheMan to see if all is on the up and up on his end. Heh.

The appointment to meet and talk to the doc was in early December and she scheduled a water balloon-o-gram for mid December, and went through instructions on when and where to get the lab work done in late December when my cycle did its cycle thing. Sadly, no one consulted with my cycle about these plans so imagine my surprise when I found out it had already scheduled a lovely two week pre-Christmas vacation. Mid-December came and went and I had to cancel my water balloon-o-gram because my cycle was off in Tahiti somewhere living it up. I didn’t even get a post card.

Finally, right before Christmas, my cycle flew back from its tropical respite to be with family for the holidays. I guess even the Caribbean is dull when the holidays roll around. It timed everything just right so that I had to wait for the January cycle to get going with the blood work. Merry Christmas. The worst part was that I had cracked open our one pee on a stick parent indicator the week before (it was margarita night, I had to know!) and got a resounding negative to my urine inquiry. I couldn’t have been more not pregnant if I had a Y chromosome as my second pairing. Who authorized this two week non-baby induced cycle hiatus? Fucker.

The January cycle was somewhat more friendly, although probably apologetically early seeings as its December counterpart was such a prick about taking off without telling anyone, and I got stabbed and drained for progesterone testing. Lemmie just say that figuring out the whole progesterone cycle thing sucks mighty suckage. It’s pretty much the same principle as testing for being pregnant except the pregnancy test is a one time shot deal. Pee once, get your results. Progesterone testing is looking for a particular time of progesteroneage so you have to determine when there isn’t progesterone and when there is. This means several days in a row of peeing on a stick. I am not built to pee on a stick. I can do the hover pee thing while trying to negotiate a testing stick at the same time once a month if I have to, but four or five days in a row of hover/pee/stick coordination are beyond my capabilities. To add insult to injury, I discovered the hard way that I am just too blind to hover/pee/stick coordinate without my glasses on.

I also can’t touch type. I wonder if the two are related?

Yesterday I got my numbers back and the nurse was ecstatic about my results of 17.3. I have no idea what 17.3 means other than lower than 20 and higher than 15. Apparently, they get all worried like if you have lower than a 15 but I don’t know…isn’t 17 really close to 15? Does the scale only go up to 18? 20? Is it infinite? All I know for sure is that not only do I ovulate pretty predictably but I do it with a reassuring amount of progesterone. Huzzah! And also…why no baby q then?

I’m not built for waiting either, and although things have so far been nothing but good news, they also haven’t produced a baby q yet. How good can good be if good isn’t producing any results?

I know, I know, all good things come to those who wait but damnit, I’m tired of waiting. ARRRGH! I want to put on my whiney voice and stomp around the house like a four year old saying “It’s not fa-air!” (one syllable per stomp as appropriate for a walking tantrum). I have to check the rulebook, but I think the license for throwing ones self on the floor and kicking and screaming expired sometime in the 70s for me. Besides, we have hardwood floors which are not the best in the world for pain free stompin and I’m all about the not pain, thankyouverymuch. Still, I can’t help how I feel and right now I’m very frustrated and cranky and sad and angry.


Last year at the booniverse: For instance, why guarantee and not garentee? Guarantee has the same Gua which you might also find in guava but do you say gwarentee? No, that’s just silly, you say GARentee so why not spell it with a GAR instead of a GUA?

Last last year at the booniverse: It’s like Ringu only aural; Y’all have seven days to find someone else to sing this too and wedge it into their head now. You’re welcome.

The year before at the booniverse: No q even on the radar back then.

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