Holy crap.

On Fresh Air this afternoon Terry Gross is talking to Scott Simon about his experience with adoption.  His book is In Praise of Adoption or some such, and I wonder whether I should do some yoga instead of listen to this.

Oh, did I forget to say?  My temperature is down a full degree and I am not pregnant.

Perhaps I have also forgotten to say that I realized yesterday, upon re-reading several key passages in my fertility reference, that I indeed must have ovulated last cycle.  That’s the only reason my temperature would have risen, and the only reason there would be a luteal phase.  But we missed the little egg anyway… I either didn’t look hard enough for it or misinterpreted my fertility signs somehow.  Last month was just funny.  (HA!)

So here am I, on Monday of the last week before fall semester classes begin, wondering whether I have the guts to listen to the rest of this interview about a man’s journey to fatherhood…

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…Well it turned out to be a lovely interview.  My cat kept me company on the yoga mat in her usual inconvenient ways.  (She especially likes to nestle beneath my pelvis when I am in bridge pose.)  Did anyone else catch Simon’s comment toward the end there about the unimportance of tying one’s identity to one’s ethnicity?  I was surprised to hear him say that, but that isn’t the point of anything.  I was also working out when he said it and may have heard wrong.

In the interview Simon made adoption sound like a breeze, honestly.  That was also surprising.

I’m grateful that I don’t need to protect myself from baby-bearing minefields like that interview, and that I could listen without feeling sorry for myself.  (In truth it wasn’t a long interview and so might have been easy to listen to for anyone.)  So far Andrew and I are still keeping things like this month’s lack of conception light.  When I woke up this morning and saw that my temperature had fallen and menstruation had begun in earnest, it wasn’t a terrible start to the day.  Really.  We’re setting out on this cycle with the same determination & upturned chins as last cycle’s start.

It’s even fun to talk about the start of a new cycle with Andrew.  I realize he is not worried, and that I am only worried about worry.  He offers to fetch me an I’m-not-preggers beer.  He makes funny comments about the fertile phase sex frenzy, proposing some practice sessions in anticipation of it to be sure we’re ready.  He reminds me that his attraction to me is not actually centered on our joint ability to conceive.

He is marvelous.