Funny things happen around here when school lets out and we suddenly have time on our hands. J and I go through transition shock. We have moments of utter bliss when we are elated to have so much time together, and then we have moments of endless bickering over what to cook for dinner or which photograph we should include in our holiday cards (or whether we should send the damn things at all). But then we go back to this blissed out place where we’re listening to jazz and doing crafts, and gazing at each other as we enjoy the quiet moments. The constant up and down, though, can be more than a little confusing and exhausting.
We have come to expect this transition time because it inevitably happens at the beginning of both winter and summer breaks. I even mentioned it beforehand this time so that we could try to avoid it. I seem to be the problem here, though. I go into these cranky spells, become the ugly-control-freak T, and I pick fights. I turn into this bossy, obstinate child. It’s not pretty.
Yesterday, I was in fine obnoxious child form, and J pulled an egg out of the fridge and attempted to break it over my head to illustrate just how ridiculous I had gotten with my fight-picking and power struggles. It ended up being a hard-boiled egg. I still laughed heartily–we both did–as I held my head. Moments like this have been saving us the past few days.
I really need to pull myself together so that we can get on with enjoying our break. J tried to help me through this today pointing out that perhaps I’m vying for power over these little things because I have none over things like my impending lack of job, our endless baby-making journey, my crazy family, and so on. Yep, that would be both of us right now. We’re so psycho-babble-cliche, it’s not even funny. (Well, it is when you see us devolve into food-throwing and giggling.)
We did manage to snap out of it for some time with Pops. Last time he was pink. This time he was yellow. That makes me think it was a different sample, maybe better and full of super sperm. While we still are not trying IUI on our own, we did opt for speculum use this time around. J had never seen a cervix, so we looked at some bad diagrams first (the Brill book has some really ridiculous shit), and then a photo. When it came time to inseminate, she propped me up, got the speculum in (it was a little pinchy, but honestly it didn’t matter–besides, what is this process without the discomfort?), and lo and behold, she found my cervix right away. Before I knew it, she had gotten the sperm to its target, and we were in the eleventh two-week-wait. My period is due New Year’s Eve. Obviously we’re hoping for a positive start to the New Year. If not, then I suppose we’ll have all the more reason to drink a lot of champagne. I can’t bear to think of it.
Honestly, we have both been pretty detached from all of it this time around. The box in which the sperm arrives is nearly three feet tall, and its presence in our home has become almost commonplace. I’m surprised I haven’t set cups of tea on it yet or that the cats haven’t made permanent perches out of it. I think we’re both fairly afraid to feel much of anything about this, so all of our dealings with it are matter-of-fact now. I miss the excitement we used to have around it; I miss all of that hope that came with it. I suppose if I really search, there are glimmers of it lingering. I know J has it because she’s been talking about babies since before we woke up this morning, and maybe she’s holding onto it for the both of us. I can handle that.