Fun with Infertility

Sexy.

I am going to try to conceive a child today. My husband and I will not even be in the same county when it happens, if it happens. I will pay a doctor $200 for the pleasure of (hopefully) knocking me up using an apparatus that looks like it might be used to administer an enema to a rat. To set the mood, there will be fluorescent lighting, and I will be alluringly clothed in an ephemeral paper sheet from the waist down. Because I am a tease, I will tear the sheet in several places while trying to tuck it in such a way as to not reveal my lily-white ass to every nurse, technician, and janitor who should have need to enter my room before the doctor arrives. I will attempt to seduce my husband's sample by tucking it under my armpit to keep it warm while I wait. Hopefully the warmth of my armpit will convince it that I might be a nice place to set up shop and divide for a while.

If my armpit does not provide sufficient persuasion, there will also be David Gray or Josh Groban piping through the speakers to let the sample know what romance is really like. The walls will be decorated with pictures of drooling infants from mothers have not been pwned by the infertility jerk. These pictures are helpful examples to make it clear to everyone what we are here to do. The choice of decoration is very important. It would be an embarrassment, after all, if I were to accidentally conceive a serene country landscape, or perhaps an adorable little diagram of rectal polyps.



When it's all over, I will have use of the room for a further twenty minutes. I will lie still with my hips elevated. In the event that my armpit, the torn paper negligee, the rat enema tube, the dulcet music, and the helpful baby pictures have not done the job, there is still gravity. Gravity, and the hope perhaps one day, Apple will come out with an iSperm GPS app for the reproductively challenged.

Wish us luck.
-Cyndi