My husband just laughed when the nurse said he’d have to be the one to stick me in the… tush every day with that GIANT needle. I have two fears. Other than the giant needle. My husband is a kind, gentle man. He’s not going to want to hurt me with that giant needle. This could go one of two ways. The first one will make me late for work because he will go so s l o w l y and c a r e f u l l y that I don’t get out of the house until the very time I am supposed to be at my desk.
The second is more frightening than displeasing the bossman. My husband has had some EMT training. He understands that quicker is better. At least when it comes to injections. I am afraid he is going to take the big-enough-to-slay-a-dragon needle and jam it into my backside like he’s trying to throw a javelin through my pelvis.
I see bruises in my future.
And marriage counseling.
And hopefully a baby. Because that’s what this is all about after all, isn’t it? Bringing new life into this world through the miracles of modern science. I guess if I have to become a progesterone junkie for it to happen, I can accept that. At least the track marks will be well hidden.
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