FET. I was lying on the table in the darkened exam room after my handsome doc transferred 3 embryos into my peaceful ute trying to enjoy the new age air pudding music piped in - I really was trying. I ended up coming to the realization I always do in this situation, that if I have to prep for this event like I do for a date then I ought to get the romantic ambiance *I* like. Since I had actually showered, used the perfumed soap and groomed the heck out of all my private parts for this oh-so-sexy transaction (what woman doesn't get all weak in the knees when she hears the words, "I'll need you to scoot down another 2 inches, dear") I want music that actually carries me away. New age muzak is the drivel I make mental to-do lists to. I want to hear Etta James, Otis Redding, Van Morrison. I don't think it is too much to ask to focus on the love in this situation. So I did what any modern woman would do - I dug out my Blackberry and let Bob Dylan on Pandora carry me away.
After my requisite lying-in period of 30 minutes I hopped up, stole a few surgical masks and hats for the kids and drove home. Cruising through town on my way to meet H-Mama and the kids for ice cream cones Stayin' Alive came on the radio. Even the kids know that Mommy loves disco. I boogied through each of the myriad stoplights never looking left or right. I get self conscious if I *know* people are watching me; I'm good if I can assume the trucker waiting next to my car has something better to laugh at than the woman channeling John Travolta in her front seat.
I was met by these faces. Apparently picking mulberries was on the camp docket today. Perspective is a good thing.