Nutting Butt Strings

DH and I did a frozen transfer. Silently, quietly, telling only a few friends and family members, hoping that the privacy would somehow spare us pain if it failed to work out. It is funny that you feel guilty for letting people down. You feel guilty for not being able to listen to the, "buck up, it will be okay," speeches you get when it doesn't work. The "I know you'll get pregnants," the "you'll be a great moms," the "everything happens for a reasons."

It didn't work.

It didn't work despite perfect conditions, good embryos, drinking grape juice and eating pineapple because supposedly that was supposed to do something. Laying on my back for three days; praying, praying; wishing, wishing.

I knew it didn't work. I started peeing on sticks. But still, you hope. Our blood pregnancy test was on Friday, and although I'd been doing tests at home every day, I didn't do one that morning. I didn't want to see the negative. I wanted to go in with a little hope.

But I knew in my heart it was hopeless. Of course it was hopeless. On the way home from the test (it's so hard to have your blood drawn when you know it will only bring you pain to hear the results!), I was distracted. I looked up at a billboard for a casino that listed its upcoming shows. One was "Nuttin' But Strings." And without even thinking, I said, out loud, "What are nutting butt strings?"

When I realized what an idiotic thing I'd just said, I started laughing. And it's amazing, that line between laughter and tears, because then I was crying, hysterically. At the same time. Miserable, and mirthful. Amused, and befuddled. Hopeful, and hopeless.