Downhearted

What are the odds that both parties to a lesbian partnership would have almost unreadable ovulation charts? Perhaps they're high. Perhaps not many women at all have proper, easy-to-decipher temperature charts. Perhaps it's all a conspiracy to punish women for seeking to control their fertility in the first place --- hey, you, lady. Just have unprotected sex with one man forever and welcome the children or barrenness whichever comes and keep it down while you're doing it, okay?

I'm not nearly as bitter as I sound. I promise.

It's all going to come good in the end, I know that. According to (no exceptions) every last person I talk to about it, 'it'll happen'. Yes, I know. Thanks. Got it. Not happening now, though, is it? Which is the point. Which is the centre of how I'm feeling and why.

And, really, this is the third month for me. It only feels as though I've been inseminating and reading opaque fucking charts for two years. That first part? That was actually Jam. Oy vey.

Soon it will be spring and then summer. My favourite part of the year. It's sure to bring something else new-lifey with it, and let's hope that thing is a tiny, extremely healthy person, fiercely implanted in an appropriate section of my uterus.

(And that's why they call me an optimist.)

is dotted, ts crossed

Jam, whose commitment to the uterus swap has to be seen to be believed, accompanied me on a Health Care Professionals Bonanza yesterday. I had many needles, including one in my mouth. All the boosting, scraping, filling and bloodletting best done pre-conception has now been done. I have been conscientious enough to deserve a baby! Hurrah!! So, perhaps this month ... We're hoping to do more insems and really maximise our chances. What with the low-sugar diet and the mild exercise and above-mentioned responsible health care, surely the sperm and the egg will pull themselves together and deliver us a viable zygote! Surely!

And Jam's new friend, the Extreme Chinese Medicine Woman, has put her on a diet regime that leaves my efforts for dead. (I refuse to give up dairy, for starters.) She's feeling very hopeful, now. It's been good to get some answers, and to feel as though someone actually listened. So I'll get one all cooked up and squeezed out and growed up a bit, and then my darling'll have a turn. All's right in the world.