Telling Them Everything They Don't Want to Know

(It you like the lunacy below, please think about subscribing to this blog and taking a gander at my ebook (also reviews of it) to the right) Transparency. President Obama has spoken many times about the policy of transparency. No secrets. Let the people know everything that's going on. I think we should all adopt the same policy. Of course telling people everything in politics is one thing. Does anyone really want to know everything about our infertility? They think they want details. What's the surefire way of curing them of that? Give them the details of course... All the details.

So next time you visit, shall we say, your mother-in-law (she's a laugh riot or at least always good for some laughs) before she starts in on the "When are you going to make me a grandma? (bla bla bla) I'm not getting any younger you know" (yeah we know bla bla bla) Perhaps cut her off and start this conversation:

"And then your son, they give him a cup like they give you when they need a urine specimen except well, they're not really interested in him peeing in it. And he takes the cup into a private room and has happy thoughts. I think last time it was Jessica Alba...Anyway...I know that sounds kind of gross, but on the bright side you were wrong about what you told him when he was fourteen--it can't possibly make him blind. We've been through this four times already and he still only wears glasses for driving and movies."

There's obviously no way your mother-in-law is still in the same room with you at this point. She's clearly off cooking and being appalled. Or maybe trying to scrub those disgusting images you just put into her head out of the dishes.

So, now that you've begun to experience how freeing it is to be so open about your infertility escapades, who else around the house tonight might benefit from your new-found transparency policy?

Your father-in-law naturally.

"So I was just telling Dottie about how your son and I have been going to this fertility clinic. They had to test his sperm. He has enough of them. It's just they're not the best swimmers and apparently have a lousy sense of direction. So I guess all those years on the varsity swim team didn't help his sperm at all. It's kind of funny considering that your son has no sense of direction either. He has GPS and it's always rerouting him. Maybe the GPS could reroute his sperm if he put it down his...No, I'd better not go there...Whoops...Poor choice of words. Of course I'll have to go there if I ever want to get pregnant."

Unfortunately you caught dad-in-law in the middle of an episode of Real Housewives of Miami so he didn't hear a word you said.

How about some neighbors? They always seem interested in why you're not pregnant yet. Let's knock on a door and see what happens, shall we?

"Hi Michelle. Remember the other day at the mailbox you asked me if I was pregnant yet. And I was kind of in a hurry so I just gave you the short answer: 'Nope'. I don't want you to think l was blowing you off so let me fill you in. You might want to put down that laundry basket. It looks kind of heavy.

So that day I went to the doctor to have them check my uterine lining. There's only one way they can do that. You guessed it. They take some kind of a flashlight thing with I think a condom on it and put it up my... Let's just say they have a little laser light show in my uterus except without playing Pink Floyd or anything. And of course you're not wearing anything but a paper gown and your legs are flying high in the air in a "v" shape. It always reminds me of when I was a cheerleader. I'm talking about doing splits during the games, what did you think I meant? And I could swear at that last appointment they had a window open because I seemed to be getting a cool draft coming from the South.

I'm telling you, you probably should put down that laundry basket. ..Then the nurse called me that night to tell me how much medicine I should inject. Some I shoot into my stomach subcutaneously and some my husband shoots into my butt. Believe me, you're really at a disadvantage if you're an infertile woman with short arms. You have to have a great husband or at least an extremely good friend.

Could I come in? Or do you want to hear the rest on the porch too? I'm okay standing out here. This way I won't have to repeat everything to the other neighbors later."

(If you liked the lunacy above, please think about subscribing to this blog and taking a gander at my ebook (also reviews of it) to the right.)