An Untypical Saturday

An old wives' tale says that if you surround yourself with babies, your body will be irresistibly fertile. Does it count if I'm looking at pictures of baby myself? TBT (except it's Saturday...) to infant Bryn, circa 1988 AD.

My typical Saturday is spent either a) working, b) recovering from working the night before, or c) hanging out solo while my guy works. This is an ongoing thing, and I've come to accept that weekends are not always the times that I will see Joshua. And that's okay. But that's not what happened today.

Today was ultrasound day. So I dragged myself out of bed at 7:30 after working sixteen hours yesterday (and driving two more) and took a shower. And shaved. Because I think it's common courtesy to be presentable for the medical professionals that will be looking around down there. Whatever. Beside the point. Five minutes before go time, I had to wake His Highness up since he "just needs to throw pants on" (his words), and we were out the door. By 8:30. On a Saturday. I think we're growing up. Gross.

Everything at the ultrasound went well. I've got a big egg in each ovary, and neither of them had ovulated yet, which is good because I was on cycle day 14, and this is usually a day 12 kind of thing, and I had been worried that we'd miss our window. I was prescribed my Ovidrell again and told to administer it "right away" so that I'd be able to have my IUI done on Sunday (since I don't have to work). So, we drove over to the pharmacy and picked up the prescription. We administered the shot in the car, all "meth-style," according to Joshua. I don't know much about meth besides my extensive viewing of Breaking Bad, but I'll take my popo's word for it. Anyway, yeah. That happened.

 And then we decided to go and get some breakfast, because by now it was 10:30 on a Saturday morning, and we were in Salt Lake where our options were endless. While we were stopped at a traffic light, Josh saw an older gentleman walking with a cane and carrying a big, heavy box. Josh told me I needed to get in the driver's seat because he was going to go help the man. I drove around the block, since we were in a left turn lane, and when I found Josh and pulled over, he told me we were going to give the man a ride. It turns out he was trying to get downtown (and was way up by the University of Utah). He was new to the area and was returning a Christus (*spelling?) statue to Deseret Book because his church had told him they'd reimburse him for buying it, but because he just moved he needed them to do it right away since he'd skipped buying furniture in order to buy this statue. It was a really sad story, and I was happy to drive (Jack from Friendship Manor) downtown. And when Joshua had walked him inside to Deseret Book and helped him with his statue, we set off again in search of breakfast.

We ended up at the Corner Bakery, which was amazing. Eat there. Maybe not every day, since their french toast is like coffee cake, but at least once. It was so good. Afterwards, we were on our way over to the Gateway mall so I could show Joshua the Urban Art Gallery when I witnessed a drug deal. It was ridiculously obvious. (Who the heck literally buys drugs off of the street corner??) Part of me wanted to yell at the drug dealer and buyer and just let them know I'd seen them, but mostly I didn't want to get shot, so I just told Josh about it. We laughed. Because when you're married to a cop, sometimes that's what you do when you see a drug deal go down at 11:00 on a Saturday morning. Seriously, the kid must have woken up and though I could sure go for some heroin right about now. I just don't get it. Anyway, the gallery was awesome, and Joshy and I got to share some fun moments. Tomorrow they're opening a Star Wars exhibit, and I'm pretty sure Josh is going to talk me into breaking the sabbath to check it out. Whatever. #yolo #AmITrendyNow ?

Let's end this thing, because it's late and I'm a little old lady who should go to bed at 10:00 every night. Anyway, I'm going in for my IUI tomorrow. And then I won't know anything for two weeks. And I think it's kind of rude and tortuous that that's how it works, but whatever. I hope this works, because it's been three LOOONG years of trying, and it's getting old. I'd like to move on with my life or freaking start my life, but I don't feel like I can as long as I'm holding my breath to see if I will ever have a family.

So here's to answers and self-discovery and random acts of kindness and laughing at the things in life you can't control or change. Here's to sunny Saturdays and naps and new sheets of 800 thread count Egyptian cotton heaven against my skin. And here's to tomorrow. May it be even more wonderful than today.