After considerable consideration, Jeff and I decided that April felt too long to wait to see a reproductive endocrinologist and so today, on the recommendation of a friend, we drove an hour south and had our first meeting with Ashim Kumar in Thousand Oaks. He spent a good two and a half hours questioning us, explaining the mysteries and technicalities of baby making, and in general becoming familiar with my uterus. Overall, we like him. Jeff likes him because he seemed to know the operative difference between the words inherited and heritable. (That's big with Jeff.) I just like him in general. If vibe counts for anything, we're off to a good start.
We've decided to try three months of intrauterine insemination with all the bells and whistles, which is to say, all the hormonal shots, pills and monitoring. It's two weeks before all the fun stuff really begins. I'm optimistic, even though they still can't say for sure why we're not getting pregnant on our own. But according to my FSH level my eggs seem (sniff!) older than they should be for my age. Apparently my ovaries matured though my sense of humor did not.
On our way home we stopped at a pan-Asian place in Camarillo for Mongolian barbecue. The food was only okay, but our cookies' fortunes knocked us on our asses. Mine was just the thing you want to see when you're about to start expensive fertility treatment:
Jeff's was a bit more empowering. We agreed however, that it's very dangerous for the universe to reinforce his natural tendencies and general ego like this:
I have one more day of work tomorrow and then two, count em, two beeea–utiful days off!! And I can enjoy them knowing my dad is home, home, home!