When we picked up the washed and specially selected sperm, they were handed to me in a little vial. To make sure we don’t get the guy in the next booth’s sperm, David has to verify his handwriting and that all the vials are labeled with his handwriting. I put the vial between my breasts to keep the guys warm -- the boys sandwiched between the girls. I never kept things in my bra, but always wanted to. It seemed a special advantage big-boobied women in the movies possessed, and I thought that when I was middle aged, I’d be one of those women pulling cash out of her bra to buy lottery tickets and booze. And, according to my lovely doctors, I guess I am middle aged and it’s high time I start packing in my package.

We transported everyone downstairs to my OB/GYN's office where we checked in and waited to be called. This is the time when I start getting pretty tense. The first time, I was fine. I saw the instrument used to inseminate and thought, no problem. It’s thinner than a plastic coffee stirrer. Piece of cake, right?

Well, now that I’m a veteran recipient of in utero insemination, I now realize that we are all unique in our anatomy and my uniqueness is a spiral helix of a womb. The doctor of the month (it’s a different one every time because when I detect the hormonal surge that denotes ovulation, I have to take whoever is on duty) comes in and commits violence upon my insides. They draw pictures of my uterus for the next doctor to use as a map, but none of that prevents the pain of the experience. I’m splayed out in the stirrups, the scapula is placed and widened, and he or she goes in and tries to shove the tiny injector in with no mechanical help. There is pinching, but inevitably they need more machinery and the fun begins. I feel cramping and pinching on my insides as the doctor digs deeper. I can take pain pretty well as long as I can moan and scream about it, and I do. It friggin hurts! But, within fifteen minutes, it is all over. The sperm is introduced to the dance floor and has to find the egg.

I realize that childbirth will be much more painful, but the outcome will be a baby. Right now, the outcome is a painful day of cramping and blood. I do take a sick day from work and manage to enjoy the rest of the day, but I’d rather suffer pain and get pregnant at the end.

We’ve done this for four months and so far, nothing. We have two tries more to go. After six months on Clomid, you have to go off of it for a time because there’s an increase in the chance of getting ovarian cancer and other problems. After the six months, we'll go to the next step. We’re not sure what that is going to be yet.

I’m not even sure I want to get pregnant. Truthfully, I wanted to get pregnant by some happy accident and deal with things as they arose. Instead, I have to try and make something happen: I’m trying to control destiny. I’ve never been very good at this.