As official as typing something in my Google calendar can be, it’s official. I just booked our IVF class, which will take place the afternoon of June 3. This is where we’ll learn to do my favorite thing on earth… stick sharp needles into my thigh! I’m a total friggin’ wuss people. I got stitches two weeks ago (for the first time) and between the sewing and tetanus shot you’d have thought an eight-year-old child were lying on the table with all the crying and screaming. I’m not making that up. I asked if they’d put me under to do the stitches. They did not.

They’ll also teach us some other important stuff, like what to do when the clomid haze turns your wife into a homicidal maniac, and the types of medication you’ll be taking and the ins-and-outs of the process.

We put another date on the calendar today as well. July 15, 2009. This one makes me anxious. I want to cry and giggle right now. Our IVF start date. Holy crap! This is getting very, very real. I feel like we’ve been on that slow incline of a roller coaster for, well, years now and we’re starting to approach that white flag toward that top that signals, “you’re screwed, no turning back now.” Any second we’re going to be hurled over a hill that will put my stomach (and uterus) somewhere between my ears and I’m going to miss that slow, boring ascent.