Romantic evenings with the clicker

No, it wasn't a crazy night out on the town. Nothing so exciting. But last night, my brain was working in overdrive. I stayed at work extra late, just to keep myself busy - busy enough that I couldn't think about the fact that, no, I am not pregnant AGAIN.

Then a few errands, and home, where a hot bath and newly arrived stack of magazines awaited. My big shipment of B&N books-that-I-shouldn't-read-but-do-anyway failed to arrive, but a big old envelope from Resolve was waiting for me. Resolve is a national infertility organization, and in my neverending quest for more information than is probably mentally healthy, I made my way to their website, where you can simply devour articles, chat transcripts, interviews, etc. About various topics relating to fertility and the lack thereof. But what got me really psyched was, of course, the magazine! Another subscription to add to my rabbit-like-multiplying piles. Actually, they were pretty good (I had to get up to speed by ordering the past six months of magazines), and mostly covered topics from a more scientific perspective and were written by doctors.

There was an okay article on yoga and fertility, and it confirmed what I'd thought all along: it's okay for you. No one can prove any great insta-baby results, and it certainly doesn't seem to harm anything, so why not? That seems to be the prevailing wisdom, and what keeps me attending Tuesday night classes, and contemplating {but not yet attending} additional sessions.

After sufficient pruning in the tub, a little time with the man, a little time with the tube, and off to bed I go. To wait, and wait and wait to fall asleep. My brain was in overdrive and I couldn't shut it off, which might be the most annoying thing in the world {except for J's trombone-like snoring, which was an equal factor in last night's insomnia}.

The late hours of last night and wee hours of this morning were spent curled up on the couch, remote in hand, and On Demand programs about babies, births, and triplets. Three sets of triplets to be exact. Oh, and one about a woman with a 200-pound tumor {variety is the spice, right?}. And one doctor who delivered six of those nine triplets within 24 hours...whew. All of the moms had differing lengths of in-hospital bedrest ... how bad would that suck? I suppose, that because a few of them lived hours away from their hospitals, it might have been the only option, but talk about time to kill. I'd have to find a whole new slew of magazines to subscribe to ...