My stomach is jittery.  Silly, maybe.  I’d like to blame it on the flu, or even the work I haven’t gotten done this week since I’ve been home with a cold.  Really though, it’s about going to the fertility clinic tomorrow.

I’m not good with doctors at the best of times.  Well, that’s actually an understatement.  I’m quite bad with doctors.  I’m not sure whether it’s the news that comes from their mouths or the things they do during appointments.  One way or the other, I’m on edge within a few weeks of an appointment, let alone on the eve.

I’ve been trying to make it better by telling myself it’s her appointment.  It’s funny.  I should feel that way, shouldn’t I?  I don’t.  It feels like our appointment, our experience.  We’ll talk about her body but I don’t feel shut out.  I’m glad.  I think it’s a good start.  Still, it’s nervous excitement.  Dread excitement.  Apprehension.  Maybe even fear.

So, as much as I wish it were over, I’m excited for it to happen because here’s where we find out if there’s anything going to happen.

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