Romancing the Bone

When Luna the Bolivian street mutt gets a treat, and she's not desperate to eat it right that moment, she goes through a routine we like to call "romancing the bone." Romancing the bone involves throwing the object of affection up in the air, watching it fall, and then barking at it with her butt in the air, like they're playing together. (No matter that it's inanimate--a mere technicality.) Then she tries to bury it her bed. Despite having done this many times before and learning it doesn't work, she'll start crying and whimpering when she can't hide it even from her own eyesight, much less mine, and start carrying it around the house, looking for the appropriate private spot. That bone is precious cargo, even if she's not ready to eat it.

I feel that way about our embryos. Okay, so now there are only three. But at this point, they're the only viable way DH and I could ever get pregnant. And in my own way, I've been romancing the bone. The acupuncture. The grape juice. The bed rest. I mean, does any of this actually make you pregnant?If it's really a bottle of cheap vodka and a weak moment that does the trick, this romancing the bone starts to look a little silly.

Still, I'll keep guarding these little frosties like they're actually kids. A few weeks ago, before the transfer and BFN, we drove by the clinic and waved at our six snowbabies. Gotta believe that these little guys, that mean more than anything, are that precious.