the end

It was our last chance. Our last.fucking.chance for me to get pregnant. And naturally, with what felt like EVERYTHING hanging onto the slim hope that maybe this time will be different, this time was really no different at all. So that's it. Five months, six counting the time before deployment, and nothing at all to show for it.

We've begun to think something is wrong with one or the other of us. Everyone else we know got pregnant right away, and we didn't. It's not rocket science; it shouldn't BE this hard. It's sex, right? It's nature. How can you fuck up something like that? Trust me, the Mansons can. And we did.

Sid's got an appointment for a semen analysis coming up later this week, and if that comes back normal, it's my turn to go to the doctor and start asking questions. And you know what? I'm deathly afraid that something else will be wrong with me, something else besides my thyroid. Something I can't fix with a pill.

I hope that Sid's the one who's messed up - and isn't that fucked up? - because if he's not, that means there's something wrong with ME. I don't want to say the word, I don't want that label...infertile. I don't want either of us to carry that burden, but if someone must, let it be him. Sid said the same thing: "If it has to be either of us, I hope it's me, because if it's you, you'd never forgive yourself." And he's right, I wouldn't.