This morning as I sat down at my desk, at my office where not a single person knows I am HELLOTRYINGTOCONCEIVE, and where taking a nurse's phone call in the grimy stairwell full of recyclables and speaking to her as though I'm in a bomb shelter is-like-playing-with-fire, I felt something. (A something that was not the dull, ever present headache that arrived on day two of Clomid-the-wonder drug. Also a something that was decidedly not the oh-my-god-I-just-started-crying-during-
Teen Mom Schindler’s List “thing”
that started on day four). No. This was something else. This was a
subtle…twinge. Near my hip. Well, not so much my hip but more my pelvis. And
not so much my pelvis but deep in my… holy shit that is my ovary. And it dawned
on me right then and there, that I have never been aware of my ovaries
before – like really, really acutely aware that I, WOMAN, have a pair of appears-to-be-functioning (hallelujah!) ovaries! And they’re mine! And they’re for baby
making! (and like, other stuff, like hormones and… okay I honestly have no idea
what ovaries do. Sorry mom, I totally never read that copy of “Our Bodies,
Ourselves” that you insisted I purchase along with my subscription to Cosmo.
Also, why did you let me have Cosmo?).
But where was I? Right.
got the swag and it’s pumpin out my ovaries!. Winning (but also kind of losing).