T and I decided last night that the only way to get pregnant without medical intervention is to quit our jobs, sell the house and two cars and move to a trailer park where we will have sex in the bushes out behind our trailer...or the neighbor's. You know, whichever.
Our alternative "therapy" will be for T to go into work with some sort of weapon and go on a rampage and the day he is locked up I will magically find out that I am knocked up. Then I'll take my baby to see his/her daddy in prison.
Both are good plans I think. We'll try the trailer park first. We can always hold out hope that T gets laid off this summer, right?
Our last ditch effort will be for me to become a crack whore down on Division. I already have the stained T-shirt and sweatpants. We hadn't planned on using a sperm donor but this might just work out.
I found out today that T's appointment will not be with the Fertility God of choice but rather with a urologist I've never heard of. Damn. I blame the nurse for getting my hopes up. T's appointment isn't until May 3rd. WTF?!?!?!
I am to go see my GYN next Thursday because she hasn't seen me since ... January. Not much to see, still not pregnant, what could she possibly need to see me about? I guess I'll find out next week.
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1 comment:
Oh, how I hate to admit that that shit worked for me, all but the bushes. I would recommend a holly bush, tho, so you can get a good dose of flagelation out of it, too.
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