We've been so busy working that time passes quickly, and before we blink twice, Will's graduation has passed, suggesting that my birth control pills have been tossed to the winds. Knowing that our baby's gestation will last nine months, I plan to conceive, carry to term and give birth soon after another year of teaching fifth grade draws to a close, at which time I'll resign my position as Pied Piper to a classroom of boys and girls, whose friendship, laughter and antics will surely be missed until a babe in arms is mine to have, hold and love, 24/7.
When months pass without conception taking place, that does not worry me, but this does: In addition to not conceiving, I've stained nothing red, suggesting a trip to my gynecologist is in order.
After listening to the voice of experience explain that taking the pill is known to unbalance the body's natural rhythm of regularity, I return home feeling reassured that, with patience, all will be well only to find that once my days in the red tent resume, they're spaced at least two months apart, so back to the doctor I go. This time, I'm instructed to purchase a basal body thermometer, which will be used every morning, and as soon as my temp goes up just a notch, that will indicate ovulation is taking place ...
The very first time my temp goes up a notch, I spend the day awaiting Will's return from the hospital, where he's engaged in a rotating internship, which allows him to taste several medical specialties. The nature of each rotation offers a fledgling doc the ability to select the specialty, which appeals to his or her sensibilities. Though Will's natural inclination leans toward pediatrics, his sensitivity, concerning terminally ill kids, runs so deep as to dismiss this specialty as his chosen field. He finds surgery intriguing, so his personal interest turns in that direction only to find general surgery too bloody for words. However, the use of tourniquets makes that untrue of orthopedics, which offers endless opportunities to treat adults and children, whose injuries prove to be within the surgeon's realm of expertise to heal, and thus, before his year of internship draws to a close, Will finds himself applying for Orthopedic residencies, as did his elder brother, Jeremy, five years ago—whoops—my train of thought is getting off track, so before I write even one more word, let's circle back to our story where ...
Will arrives home from the hospital, all tuckered out and hungry after a grueling, twelve hour day ... and though 'something's cooking in our apartment, that something's not dinner. That something is me. Upon walking into our bedroom to change out of his white coat, button down, long sleeved shirt and tie, my husband's eyes open wide in surprise to find a five-foot-three-inched, green eyed, leopard-skinned kitten purring for attention in the middle of his bed ...
The very first time my temp goes up a notch, I spend the day awaiting Will's return from the hospital, where he's engaged in a rotating internship, which allows him to taste several medical specialties. The nature of each rotation offers a fledgling doc the ability to select the specialty, which appeals to his or her sensibilities. Though Will's natural inclination leans toward pediatrics, his sensitivity, concerning terminally ill kids, runs so deep as to dismiss this specialty as his chosen field. He finds surgery intriguing, so his personal interest turns in that direction only to find general surgery too bloody for words. However, the use of tourniquets makes that untrue of orthopedics, which offers endless opportunities to treat adults and children, whose injuries prove to be within the surgeon's realm of expertise to heal, and thus, before his year of internship draws to a close, Will finds himself applying for Orthopedic residencies, as did his elder brother, Jeremy, five years ago—whoops—my train of thought is getting off track, so before I write even one more word, let's circle back to our story where ...
Will arrives home from the hospital, all tuckered out and hungry after a grueling, twelve hour day ... and though 'something's cooking in our apartment, that something's not dinner. That something is me. Upon walking into our bedroom to change out of his white coat, button down, long sleeved shirt and tie, my husband's eyes open wide in surprise to find a five-foot-three-inched, green eyed, leopard-skinned kitten purring for attention in the middle of his bed ...
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