I guess I am not all that into living dangerously...the extent of my outburst about IF was to drink 3 glasses of Cab and pig-out on chips, dip, and soda.
Wow, I'm soooooo bad.
nah, instead I was the calm, cool-headed gal I pride myself in being: I scheduled my first RE appointment for November 4th, and that'll be $215, please. I'll update it on my running total once I've written the check. It's a consultation. I even asked if I had to get naked for the first visit; the receptionist chuckled a bit. So I've got to get busy in the next few weeks gathering medical records from my doctor and DH's sperm-counter doctor. Hey, how do they count sperm, anyway? Is is like an automated coin counter at the bank? Or does some poor lab assistant/graduate assistant have to sit there and count (one million four hundred thousand fifty-one heads-and-tails sperm in the jar....one million dour hundred thousand fifty-two...)?
I'm feeling better, though I won't lie: I've had crying episodes on and off today, and the party I was supposed to go to this evening will have to party-on without me. I gotta deal, ya know. Gotta deal.
I'm still not sure who I plan to "come out" to. I already told DH that this was none of his crazy mother's business yet, and that if he needed to talk to someone, it better as hell be me first since he never wants to talk. He agreed. I don't mean to sound so pushy, but technically it is my medical condition (wasn't I just complaining that it is actually "ours" last week)? I know, I need to make up my mind.