I just watched the instruction video for giving myself injections. Delightful.
I mean, I’ve been preparing, mixing, and injecting medications into someone else for over a year, but this is different. This is stabbing myself with a needle. This is stabbing myself with a needle at least twice a day. This is the big guns. And it feels like there’s so much more at stake.
Hubby’s freaked out about the idea of giving me injections (namely, the trigger and the progesterone). I haven’t ever calculated it exactly, but just as a rough estimate, let’s say I’ve been giving him six injections a week for the last 52 weeks. That’s 312 injections. 312 needles going into his ass. If I’m lucky enough to wind up pregnant, and if I have to keep up the progesterone injections until I hit the 12 week mark, that’s still only about 70 injections he’d have to give me. Still a lot, but compared to 312? Not so much. He’ll just have to suck it up, like I did.
In non-needle-related news, I dreamed about twins last night. Initially, it was two girls, and then it changed to boy/girl halfway through. I had given birth to them, but neither of them particularly looked like me. In fact, one of them looked nothing like me or my husband and had lovely, brown skin. Not the first time I’ve dreamed of having a baby of another race, oddly enough. Makes me wonder what my dreams may be trying to tell me…