I know that there are people in this world who get pregnant easily. MTV has procured enough knocked up high school kids to produce two full seasons of "16 and Pregnant." Michelle Duggar is getting ready to pop out her 19th kid. I know a woman who got pregnant while taking the pill. But apparently it takes an act of friggin' Congress to get me an infant.
Did I mention that we want another kid? I'm sure it comes as a surprise, given my affection for grumbling and harrumphing, but we do. And so far it's going about as well as you'd expect, assuming you were expecting nothing. I'd always heard that if you got pregnant once, your body knew what to do. Yeah... no. It's not like I'm new to the game. I know all about ovulation and charts and blah and blah so why no baby? To add insult to injury, my set-your-watch-by-it cycle decided to come a week early so I'm getting my hormone levels checked on Tuesday to make sure I'm not entering early menopause, which might be the least sexy sentence I've ever typed.
All this is a long-winded way of apologizing for not being around much. It's embarrassing to whine about wanting another child. It's a waste of worry to fear that I'm past my prime so I've been ignoring this blog and self-medicating with leftover Easter candy and Gilmore Girls. (I'm up the the Jess years.) I feel boring and a little blue and who wants to read about that? But I promise to snap out of it and start yelping about potty training soon, because nothing says love like an entry about poop.