So last week, I was all, WOO next week we’ll be doing IUI’s! Woo!
But then we did both IUI’s on Sunday morning. Huh. Well OK.
Let me back up. Or you can read my wife’s account.
Saturday, we went shopping at a mall about 50 minutes away. We were lured by the promise of an exciting lunch out at a restaurant, and the potential to buy some summer shirts. That is neither here nor there. My wife brought along an OPK to test at 11am in the restaurant bathroom. So romantic. The kit came back negative, so we went along with our day.
We walked along the mall for a bit and headed home after some shirt success and a RR-potty failure that involved her taking a giant crap in her Pull-Up while hunched over and practically crawling into a row of nicely folded V-necks at the Eddie Bauer. It’s only a little awkward when the cashier is smiling nicely asking if you need help, while your child narrows her eyes and shouts “GO AWAY MAMA!”
I CAN’T go away, RR. You’re pooping in the Eddie Bauer. Jeez.
Eventually, we made our way to the car, into a new Pull-Up, and home in time for RR to take the world’s most late nap from 2:30pm until we had to wake her ass up at 5pm.
Sometime around 6pm, my wife says, “Do you think I should test again?” It was CD15. Sure? Her iPhone app said she’d ovulate on, like, today. But OK. I fired up the grill, threw on some steak, and she came out onto the deck with the positive OPK and said, “Well shit. Now what do we do?”
First, I said, we text shg, who had so graciously offered to watch RR if the IUI happened over the weekend. Cause, hellooooo emotional scarring. Then we double-checked with the clinic’s website on when to call, and planned on calling at 7am the next morning to make an IUI plan.
My wife called at 7am, and we nailed down a 9:30am IUI for two vials at the same time. We dropped RR with shg at 8:45am, and headed to the downright deserted clinic, where we saw a total of three people: the lab lady, the nurse, and our RE. In the waiting room, we continued our ritual of talking about some kind of disaster to take our mind off of things. This time, I told my wife all about the 1996 Mount Everest disaster.
The nurse called us back, and the RE soon joined us. We wished him a happy father’s day, and spent much of the procedure talking about our respective visits to Yellowstone.
15 minutes later, we left, picked up RR (we can’t thank shg enough), and headed home where my wife elevated her feet on the couch all day long. We had lunch, RR napped, I walked the dog, mowed the lawn, and here we are 3DPO. The waiting is killer, man.