Last night, I came to the conclusion that we are simply doing it all wrong. That we are completely inept at conceiving this third child because we're trying to get ME pregnant. Clearly, we need to get Scott pregnant.
OK, so that's not really going to happen. But we saw a commercial on TV last night where a woman reveals to her gal pals that she's pregnant by not ordering wine for lunch, but water instead. At that moment, Scott was gulping ice water from his favorite blue cup and he announced, "Well, now you know. I'm drinking water, so I'm pregnant."
Obviously we've been on the wrong track. It should have been HIM on the table at the doctor's office with the catheter threaded into his nether-regions getting the dizzy spun spermies squirted up there. He should have been the one upon completion of the procedure to suggest to the nurse, "Am I supposed to take you out to lunch now?" She thought that was hilarious, by the way.
Although, I was the one who got the cool experience of peeking through the microscope to see the remnants of his "sample" swimming around, looking very much like the pampered stars of a sex ed film. I whispered, "Sorry, guys, you didn't make the cut!"
So, yeah, this is just some off-the-wall infertility humor. Because the IUI definitely didn't work and I might just as well laugh about it since crying just runs my mascara. Scott and I riffed on the getting-HIM-pregnant topic all last evening and it was fun. Way more fun than hanging out at the OB by myself reading a book on a table with my pelvis raised so the "sample" doesn't slide out.