I hate needles. I'm not afraid of bugs (except moths...yuck) or the dark and I wouldn't even classify needles as a fear of mine. They just really creep me out. Shaky, clammy palms kind of creepy. But I did it.

I asked Mr. M to stand there while I administered my first injection. I would get the needle thisclose to my tummy and then panic. It took about ten minutes and one threat to snatch the needle from my hands and stab me himself before I finally took the plunge and stabbed myself. Guess what? It didn't even hurt. Not even a twinge of pain. I have never been so relieved.

Today I had to inject myself during work hours. Luckily it turned out to be a day I had to drive in so at 1:00 I casually sauntered out of the office, went to the parkade and prepared the needle in the front seat of my van. I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was about to witness what I'm sure would appear to be some closet junkie getting through the day. Then stabbed myself again.

I'm not sure why,but I feel proud of myself for this minor accomplishment. Not only have I reached the point where I can get through the multitude of blood draws I now have to endure without flinching, I am also capable of inserting a metal instrument into my fatty layer and push the plunger without throwing up. I'm already looking forward to tomorrow's injection. Go figure.

Now that our first round of IVF is not far away (well, we're on the wait list, but close enough for me ) I find I'm having trouble not telling people. I don't mean friends and family - they are all aware of the situation and as excited as we are. I mean co-workers, strangers, the few neighbours I don't talk to on a regular basis. I could be setting myself up for unconquerable disappointment and when it really comes down to it, I don't think I will tell anyone aside from my best friend when it's actually happening.

Why not my mom? A long story for another day, a short story for today. My mom will have everyone in my family on constant updates. I'm pretty certain her Facebo.ok status would reflect every drug, procedure and milestone I reached throughout the process and who needs that kind of pressure?

Anyway, I've never been one to shy away from disappointment. I've given up on what I wanted, too afraid to be let down, and lived with the regret of never giving it a try. I'll take blind hope followed by defeat over that any day. This is going to work. It's going to work on the first try. And if it doesn't work on the first try, well I guess it will have to be the second time. If not the second, the third.

I know I'm going to have Mr. M's baby and I know I will tell every person - family, friend or stranger - exactly how I got it. And for anyone that wants to know more, I will tell them how much it hurt these past two years. How, every month, the amount of days you were knocked down after another negative pregnancy test were more and more as time went on until there was no distinction between cycles and all of them were down days. If they want to know even more, I can tell them how hard it is to will yourself to pull yourself up when you know there is an instant cure out there eluding you month after month. How maybe you had to learn these devastating lessons in patience, malleability and perseverence before your perceived success because eventually they were going to be what saves you from self destruction.

When I do get my baby, there will be someone that hears my story and maybe I'll be the one that picks them up that day. And if - this hurts to write - I don't get my baby I know I will be capable of picking myself up off the ground.