Reunion

Today was the fertility clinic's annual reunion picnic, or as I told G, Oz's annual opportunity to stand amid an adoring mass of grateful women and think, "I got every last one of these chicks knocked up." I said as much to him. Well, almost as much. What I actually said was, "So, it must be a real trip to look around and know you're personally responsible for every single one of these kids, huh?" To which he replied, "Honestly I try not to think about it. It's daunting." Then he told me that his oldest success story just turned 19 and graduated high school last year. He attended the ceremony. I thought that was nice. Aside from that, it was great to see all the nurse practitioners I got to know so well and to have an opporutnity to tell them all how much they kick ass. It was also great to hang out with both babies among all those people and know that not a single one of them was going to ask, "So, do twins run in your family?"

The funny thing, though, was how much time we spent today talking about whether we'd have any more kids. Now, it kind of annoys me when most people ask that question, given what we went through to have these two and also the fact that they are only five months old in the first place. Um, hello? A little time to breathe, maybe? But it was different with the crowd today, because they've all been in the same place. They all know it's never going to be as easy as throwing away our box of condoms and fucking like bunnies for a month or two. That if we ever want to have another, we will have to REALLY want to have another. And the answer, in case you're wondering, is that we don't know. It's still way too soon to decide. Besides, we know better than most people that, even if we were to decide we'd like another, it certainly doesn't mean we'll have another. For now we're just thankful -- so very, very thankful -- to have P & E that it seems almost greedy to even consider trying for any more.

Speaking of which, however -- my best friend called today to tell me she is pregnant with #2. Ugh. Does it say something awful about me that I really wasn't all that thrilled for her? I mean, logically speaking, yes, I'm happy for her. I know she wants a houseful of kids, and I certainly wouldn't wish infertility on her. It's just that, well. . . why does it have to be so damn easy for her when it was so damn hard for me? This was her I think second (maybe third) month of trying. She never even figured out how to use her OPKs, but it doesn't matter because bam! She's already pregnant. I guess I just wish there was some way to make things more fair. Say, EVERYONE has to try for six months, but that's it. At the six month mark, everyone gets pregnant. That way, everyone tries long enough to be thankful rather than an insensitive whiny asshole when it happens, but nobody has to endure two, three, four (or more!) years of misery.
What do you think, God? Do we have a deal?