The Big 4-0

Well, that's it.  I'm officially "TTC in my 40s" now.

Someone recently suggested to me that the build up to the date would be worse than the actual birthday and its aftermath, and she was right.  I'm surprisingly calm.  Rationally speaking, I don't appear to have turned into a cartoonish old crone overnight.    I have an IUI pending at some point this week, perhaps tomorrow (go surge go!) scheduled for tomorrow at 9am.  This month we're not flying as blind as last month. It's comforting, though the driving back and forth for scans, blood and procedures to squeeze into the work day unnoticed has been nerve-wracking.  I have a leak in one of my tires, and have yet to find a minute to get it fixed or buy a new one (yet I find time to pull over every 4 days to fill it back up?)  Of course my brain takes me to dark places where low-tire pressure is a sign from the gods that my IUI is doomed.  I'm bound to get a flat exactly when I need to speed out of a meeting at work to have my husband's sperm inseminated, right?  Welcome to my brain.

Dr. Cuddles scanned my ovaries yesterday, and was pleased to see my 40-year old ovaries cranked out three follicles ("that's a good number on clomid").  She also remarked again that my lining looks fantastic.  To an aging Asherman's girl concerned about the particular clomid side-effect of thinning the lining, this was the equivalent of going to a bar and getting carded.  We're tracking my LH surge by bloodwork each morning, which is a logistical bitch given my job pressures, but now at least I can rest assured that this month we will have given it our best shot.