Which leads me to the second point: I had my doctor's appointment yesterday. I vented a bit about it to the notify list, since I didn't feel emotionally up to writing a coherent entry about it; suffice it now to say that I was disappointed with the doctor's attitude toward my conception efforts, but I was happy about the fact that I was able to persuade him to order a semen analysis for Eric, four months ahead of when he would otherwise have ordered it. I was a touch embarrassed that I wasn't able to keep my emotions in check during the appointment; I started tearing up almost from the moment the doctor walked in the room. Still, I'm very glad that I went, and if all goes as planned, Eric and I will spend Saturday morning at the hospital, I bleeding and he...doing his thing.

Oh, and the doctor didn't feel the need to order the Hemoglobin A1C that I had though he might. Instead, he ordered a fasting blood sugar and a glucose tolerance test, and if any problems show up, we'll do further testing. I'm a touch nervous about it; if I do have insulin resistance problems, then my whole life could be turned upside down. Still, better to know than not to; almost six percent of people in America have diabetes, and a third of those don't know that they have it, sometimes until major, often preventable, damage to the body has already been done. I don't want to be in that third if I can help it.

An aside to the several people who have asked: I haven't yet explored the option of seeing a reproductive endocrinologist, largely because of the cost factor. Our insurance won't cover any infertility treatments; they even tried to deny coverage of my check for rubella immunity last year. Also, nobody would touch me before we've tried to conceive for one full year. Hopefully, we won't have to wait that long. I have four more months to go.

Eric's reaction to the ordered semen analysis was beyond amusing. I do believe that he's actually looking forward to the thing. Mind you, he's somewhat convinced that the problem is, indeed, his. Chalk it up to his hypochondriac nature, I suppose. Anyway, he's now lost in conjectures over what sort of...amenities the hospital will provide. Is it only in sitcoms that the men are sent into luxurious lounges, replete with magazines and videos to facilitate the sampling procedure? Will the nurses hand him a cup and say, "Fill this," or will they provide more detailed instructions? Eric is morbidly fascinated with the possibilities.

Next, we had the orientation class for the youth volunteers. Again, this was hardly what anyone could refer to as "thrilling." Discussion of proper shelf order does not make for an entertaining morning. I was a bit amused that none of the children wanted to eat the provided doughnuts when they were offered, but at the end of the session, after Boss-Lady and I had left, they demolished the entire plate. Some sort of pride thing, perhaps? Maybe they didn't want to look greedy? Still, we provided the pastries in order that they should be eaten; I had assumed that the boys, at least, would be the bottomless pits that my brother was at their age.

The rest of the day was devoted to reading club activities. Because my morning had already been rooted in boredom, I find it almost impossible to break out of the rut. It took all of my energy to keep from yawning; high spirits were way beyond my reach. Those first few hours do tend to set the tone for the rest of day. I didn't manage to break out of the doldrums until late this afternoon. A young lady, seemingly birthed right out of my own spirit, came in search of good fantasy books. She and I had great conversations as we discussed our favorite series; she was a Harry Potter fan, naturally, and we both giggled with excitement over the upcoming release of book four and the accompanying midnight release party to be held at a local bookstore. As she was only ten, I had to restrain myself from suggesting some of my own favorite fantasy books, but I think I managed to give her a few good suggestions.

On the whole, though, that was the highlight of my day. Perhaps my evening shall hold more excitement, but I somehow doubt it. I want fireworks, darn it! I want fun; I want adventure! Maybe, ingrained in each of us, is the summertime ennui; "Mom, I'm bored..."

Eric will want them to come visit. I will not tell him that they can't. I will grin and bear it. Good girl, Carrie, good girl...