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" Yesterday I had my embryo transfer. It went surprisingly well, considering my last transfer performance of bladder spasms and big fat ugly cry sobs. I managed to leave there upright and happy \u2013 more details can be found right here.   With IVF, we&amp;#039;ve been given pretty good odds of success. Over 50%. Since I&amp;#039;m trying (sort of) to employ a much more positive attitude these days, I&amp;#039;ve been trying to think of things in terms of us falling on the good side of the odds, instead of thinking that if the odds of success aren&amp;#039;t 99%, then it just won&amp;#039;t work. The math always fails me when it comes to our odds.   Now that I&amp;#039;m actually entertaining the idea of being a parent, and not just injecting myself with drugs and getting fat and moody out of boredom, I feel like maybe I should fess up.   I have some confessions to make.   As it turns out, I&amp;#039;m really good at being infertile. I&amp;#039;m a superstar blog reader and commenter. I am practically an expert on the thrilling topics of fertility drugs and procedures. I have committed to memory all of the things that should happen, day by day, during a three day IVF transfer, and a five day IVF transfer. I have learned to strip down and bust out my vagina in less than 5 seconds to prepare for an ultrasound. I&amp;#039;ve got track marks on my arms that rival the best Intervention subjects. I can inject my Follistim while watching TV, eating chocolate, and talking on the phone.   But I don&amp;#039;t know anything about pregnancy. I don&amp;#039;t know what happens at how many weeks, when the ultrasounds and other tests are done, what to do when. I don&amp;#039;t know when your belly is supposed to pop, what things to put on a baby registry, or what to say to someone who is pregnant. I&amp;#039;m vaguely aware that a baby pops out of the vagina, but the mechanics astound me. I? Am clueless.   It gets worse.   I don&amp;#039;t know anything about babies. Or Parenthood. I&amp;#039;ve never changed a diaper. Ever. I don&amp;#039;t know anything about breastfeeding, or bottle feeding for that matter. And lots of times? I loathe other people&amp;#039;s kids. I want to smack women who say that they&amp;#039;ll have to check with their husband to see if he can watch the kids (Hello! It&amp;#039;s not babysitting when it&amp;#039;s your kids!). I hate holding babies because I am afraid that I am going to break them. I always give the baby back as soon as it starts to cry. I also think I might be turning into that weird lady who never had kids, and now doesn&amp;#039;t know how to talk to them.   Sigh.   I suppose the problem is that I absolutely refuse to indulge in anything that might make me excited about getting pregnant. I will not come within 10 feet of &amp;quot;What to Expect When You&amp;#039;re Expecting.&amp;quot; I burned out my retinas when I picked out a stack of books for a relative when she got pregnant. It feels like tempting fate, you know? It kind of goes against my shiny (and, let&amp;#039;s face it, mostly fake) new positive attitude.   What confessions do you need to make?  What are your insecurities about parenthood after trying for so long to get there? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.redbookmag.com/body/pregnancy-fertility/a3591/insecure-infertile/>