With pee stick in hand and one more disappointment gone down the drain, I yanked up my pants and stormed out of the bathroom.
“That’s it! No more!”
I was done with timing ovulation, checking temperatures, watching the calendar, and ensuring egg met sperm on the right day.
I was overloaded with information, tired from feeling like an experiment, and ready to call it a day.
“We’re done having children! One and done!”
And I believed it.
I meant it.
For five minutes.
And then another one of my Facebook/Instagram/Pinterest pals posted a picture of their damn baby’s being adorable and my uterus screamed, tangled itself around my heart, and reminded me how much I really wanted another one.
So, after I logged my temperature, checked my meds, danced a jig, jumped five times, twirled, made a wish, and hopped like a frog I found a comfy spot, stuck my legs in the air and practiced feeling zen.
I’m not giving up yet.