Sitting on the couch yesterday. Minding my own business. Preggers SIL (Aphrodite) sidles up next to me, flips her blonde hair from her face and surrepticiously whips something from her pocket. She slips it to me. Drug deal stylie.
Takes me a while to figure out what it is.
It is one of those pee-on-a-stick ovulation kits.
"Thought you should try this," Aphrodite breathes in a low voice, from the corner of her mouth. Like a secret agent.
I nod. I walk away. Gutted.
What did she think my reaction would be?
"Oooooh, thank you Aphrodite, you fertility goddess, you. Here I am, cradling three years' infertility. Multiple doctors' appointments. Transvaginal ultrasounds. Blood tests. A fucking laparoscopy. The medical opinion of half a dozen experts,
"All that, and husband and I didn't realise you had to have sex at an appropriate time to get pregnant. Silly husband and I, had just been sitting on the porch, cups of tea in hand, every day, for three years, waiting for a fucking stork.
Mike got a job and other updates
4 years ago
