So I had been in from work long enough to eat a slice of left-over pizza, when my sister called to see if I could ride with her to get my nephew's head glued. Apparently he was pushed by his little friend into a door while her m-i-l was keepiing him, and she didn't see any reason to take him to the doctor. Eh, what's a gash in the head? My b-i-l and his sister didn't really ever go to the doctor. So I grabbed a pack of gum for a bribe, and off we went...
During the ride over, she updated me on half the women in the world and their pregnancies. Or two. Or three if you count herself. That just-graduated-from-high-school couple? Their baby was born last week. Sister's best friend from high school, the once-anorexic-binge-drinking-turned-crack-head!? Finding out next week if it's a boy or girl! Aaaaaaaaaand.... she bought an HPT for later this week or next. Because they are officially trying for #2 as of this month, and even though she's not late yet, she wanted to go ahead and test because last time, she had AF for the first 3 months. (She pulled it out of her purse to show it to me in the doctor's office, and again in the drive-thru to get ice cream for being such a big boy) I hate that I've become so jaded that I raise an eyebrow and say, if only to myself, "hope it works out like that for ya..."
I find myself saying that a lot lately. I guess because I've never had the luxury of making a plan to be pregnant on our own by this time or that month, I forget that it actually does work out for some people like that. I'm usually okay with knowing that I found out about our infertility at summer camp surrounded by non-English-speaking Chinese people... But other times, it makes me a little sad that we never had the blissful ignorance of assuming it could happen easily, quickly, and without mucho assistance.
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