It feels like months, but really it’s only been 3 and so only 2 definitive cycles and I’m so ready to get on with it and start inseminating! Of course my supply is dear and although I don’t have a deep or even manufactured fondness for Mr. Van Michigan, I still want to make the most of the massive group of decisions that got me to the point of reserving a carefully screened portion of his genetics.

So today I talked with a doctor at the local fertility clinic, because I found out at a Choice Mom event last weekend that I really ought to have had an ultrasound by now – along with a bunch of other things my gynecologist wasn’t even vaguely inclined to tell me (scratch her off the List of Helpful People). So there’s a bit of affirming news: if people aren’t giving you the amount of advice you think they should, something’s wrong. With them.

Okay, so now I’m finding out that I need to go in just before ovulating to have my (hopefully perched at the diving board of my fallopian tube) follicle looked at and my eggs counted. Neat-o! Almost exciting as the prospect of lugging a frozen tank up three flights of stairs and thawing a couple of tiny vials while attempting yet again to locate my cervix. That is, maybe it’ll distract me enough to make this a fun month of reporting on the Absurdity of my Fascinating Journey.

Meanwhile, in case you aren’t familiar, here are those ovulation predictor sticks that I was considering collecting in a huge damning art project. Then my mom said with rare conviction that I needed to throw them away because that’s really not in the category of Stuff Worth Keeping.

Moms know these things. So I’ll just show you a picture and you can see how conscientiously I was documenting for posterity…

It’s like reading glyphs from that crazy Laurie Anderson moon project. Not quite universal, but really trying. Anyway, I’ve still got my cervix, that Number One Communicator, and we’re getting friendlier all the time.