Not ten minutes after I posted that self-congratulatory assessment of the state of my union I was hysterically telling Steve to fuck the fuck off. Ten minutes after THAT we were fine again, but I thought I should mention it in the interests of truth in adverblogging. Because although Steve and I are usually holding hands in wildflower meadows while gentle breezes waft our attractive hair, this is not always the case.
In fact, sometimes one of us asks the other one if he has called Bob the Reliable Minion yet to see about housesitting in January (yes, THIS January, thank you) and the other one says, "No" just like that, "No."
So then one of us is forced to get a little shrill and say, "WHAT? What are you waiting for? Do you think the cats are going to feed themselves while we are gone? Are they going to start cleaning their own litter boxes and bringing in the mail? What about my orchids? Do you know how delicate my orchids are, even in dormancy? Do you even care about my orchids? Do you? Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh Huh HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH?" while jabbing a finger at him and following him from room to room.
Actually, I am surprisingly laid-back (well, for me, but I should acknowledge that I have all of our 2004 receipts and financial documents organized, totaled, sticky-noted and binder-clipped; ready to go in the mail to our accountant for tax preparation because I am that kind of pococurante) about the whole IVF-in-DC-this-month thing. For starters, I am not convinced it will even get so far as to involve travel, so why worry? Better women than me have had cycles canceled, that's for damn sure. And even supposing the twin gods Gonal and Repronex (suckled by a she-wolf and therefore sympathetic to the myriad approaches one may take towards family building) smile upon me and I am blessed with follicles that grow and gurgle, it will still take a bloody miracle for Steve's creepy-assed sperm to make a normal embryo. Let alone the two we need to nudge our odds above 50%. So... again I say, why worry about it?
I saw my brand-new acupuncturist today and I liked him. Not only did he have a good grasp of the essentials (pincushionitis inspired by looming IVF cycle) I left without any perforations in my major organs. Two thumbs up, says I, an act of approval that I am able to perform because (unlike my last acupuncturist) this guy did not cripple my right thumb with the blunt trauma of teeny-tiny needles in a very big vein.
And just to show you that I am not making up my blithe insouciance, I would like to point out that even the total stranger who poked me with needles was hip to my mellow. As he was putting them in, the acupuncturist said, "I am getting a strong sense that you are in a good place."
I widened my eyes at him and experimentally shimmied my rump on the table, "I think so," I replied, "although we could shift the knee bolster down a bit."
"No, no," he replied, "I mean I sense that you are in a good place within your self. Your serenity is admirable."
So, there you have it. Unsolicited confirmation that I am easybreezybeautiful and cool as a clutch of cucumbers. Thus, to my mother who clucks "You need to not be so crazy" and my husband who hisses "Relax!" and my brother who worries "Maybe if you made an effort to get at least 45 minutes of aerobic exercise every day..." I say: Ha! MY serenity is admirable. So bite me.