All Natural

At the deli the other day, the girl next to me had an amazing tan. I couldn’t help thinking, “is it real?”

Not an out of line question in a society where physical enhancements are totally acceptable. It got me thinking then that it presents an unfair advantage to all those people who make due with what they got, and I could see it might annoy some. Now, I’m older and not single so it doesn’t really affect me much. I’m not trying to compete with anyone else.

Then I had another thought. It’s acutally an advantage. You don’t ever have to worry about anyone questioning your virtue at the deli counter. People can take one look at me — the frightengly pale skin, small chest, and baby-sized fingernails — and they don’t have to ask if any of it’s real. It’s quite clear from the first glance that I’m all natural.

Lost on the way to being fertile

If there was ever a sponsorship program or scholarship fund for GPS systems, I’d be first in line. I could see the commercial now, me going round and round in the Nissan, passing the same bush, with some once-famous celebrity saying “There are thousands of people just like Holly all over the U.S. For just the price of a cup of…”

Seriously though. My appointment for the fertility consult was at 10 a.m. this morning. According to Google, the medical center is 1 hour 3 minutes from my home. I left at 8 a.m. Now I know all you smarties out there are quickly calculating that this would give me 57 minutes of free time. Well, once again, I have exceeded normal expectations, or maybe deceeded (is that even right). By the time I showed up at the front desk to announce my arrival, I had a whopping 20 minutes to spare. Oh, that’s right. I literally spent more than 20 minutes circling the perimeter, not able to crack the code. Not totally my fault. Google maps did assist by instructing me to take a right when I should have gone left. In the midst of this, I picked up another lost traveler going the same way, who in a case of bad judgment, decided to start following me. The poor, misguided woman.

Well, I made it and I”m happy to report that my concerns were completely unwarranted. Not only did she agree that it was quite silly to make me “wait and see” when I’m lucky to ovulate two times a year with no detectable pattern, she got me set up right away with scripts for another dose of Provera, pre-natal vitamins, and a battery of blood tests. But it wasn’t just for the ladies. No, the men got some presents too. Uhhh, I should say man. That would be a bit odd now wouldn’t it. In any case, for my boyfriend, there was a pretty paper bag with a plastic specimen cup inside. I think you can work your imagination here as to what he needs to fill it with. We just have to get everything together, run the tests, and then I can get started on the Clomid.

Of course now there’s a whole new set of fears and worries. Not made any less by my dear sister and two adorable nieces. I called my sister to inform her of the consult, when there was a commotion behind her. Apparently there was a spilled juice box, torn cards, a screaming child, and no one was talking.

All I have to say is, I hope those lungs aren’t genetic, cause if so, I may need to rethink a few things…