Ohai Interwebz.  Happy Thanksgiving to all of you.

First and foremost, I accidentally gave myself a shot last night.  I KNOW!  SO COOL, right?!

Here’s how it went down.  I got my Follistim Pen all loaded up, sanitized, needle loaded up and alcohol-swabbed the spot I had selected.  I have this pretty major problem of forgetting which side I shot up the day before, but Joey is always on top of things.  He came skidding into the bathroom just as I swabbed off my right side and stopped me.  ”You did that one yesterday,” he said.  ”Other side.”

“Serious?” I asked.

“Serious.”

“Can’t I just do this side anyways since it’s already clean?”

“No.  Other side.”  Don’t mess with  Joey, Internet.  Don’t do it.

So I sighed and cleaned off a spot just to the left and a little below my poor bellybutton and held the Follistim pen at the 45 degree angle that we discovered is much less painful.

“Are you doing it yourself?” Joey asked me.

“No,” I said.  ”I’m just seeing how it would look if I were going to try it.” But as I said this, I accidentally jostled my right arm and felt a tiny twinge.

“Well…you just did,” Joey said.

“OH MY GOSH!” I squeaked.  The arm twitch had caused me to accidentally shoot myself, and I was somehow past the painful part of the process.

WEIRD.

I stared down at my hand and realized the way I was holding the pen made it next to impossible to actually depress the thingy that shoots the medicine into my person.  I tried to adjust my grip on the pen, but it was really awkward.  I pushed it in the rest of the way, and it didn’t hurt at all!, and awkwardly pushed the “button” (I don’t have a clue what that thing is called, I am such a bad druggie).  I was careful to leave it in for the prescribed 5 seconds and then, out it came.

“Victory!  I DID IT!!” I yelled, throwing my arms into the air, one of which was still holding the exposed-needled Follistim pen. Fortunately I didn’t nick Joey with it; can you even imagine what would happen to him?  He doesn’t even have ovaries.

“Nice job,” Joey congratulated me as I twisted apart the needle from the pen and disposed of it in my sharps container.  ”But this is terrible, now I don’t get to be part of the process anymore!”

“Well, you can still give me some shots,” I assured him.  ”Don’t worry.”

Joey suddenly laughed and said, “You know, if I’m the one giving you the shots, it’s like I’m more involved in the process than I would be the, um, Other Way.”  I laughed too.

The state of marriage during infertility treatments: spouses fighting over who gets to give the injections.  What is this world coming to?

Following my victorious shot-giving session, we stayed up an hour past our bedtime and web-cammed with my family as we did a really, really early version of Christmas/Birthday.  Sister and Pops have birthdays that each wind up on Thanksgiving day every few years.  Sister’s was Monday and Pops’ is TODAY (Happy birthday to Pops!), so they shared a birthday dinner last night.  We didn’t start presents until 10:00 because The Kid was taking for-ever to get to Iowa from Ohio, where he goes to college.

After all the presents were opened and the table was so covered in wrapping paper it was starting to block the webcam, we finally got to bed at midnight.

MIDNIGHT.

And this morning when Joey and I woke up, we realized I had used all the eggs in the house yesterday (6 to be exact) to make the pecan pie last night, so our plans for a brunch were kind of squelched.  That is, until we decided to go get some eggs.  But we were not self-starters at all this morning, not at ALL, and we sat on the floor playing with Henry and drinking our Ghirardelli Chocolate Peppermint coffee (and none of you will report me to Dr. Babyplease or you’re fired from reading this blog; yes, I have that power.)

We were also listening to the new John Mayer album, which totally rocks me.  So there we were, staring blankly off into space with really messy hair, lounge pants, coffee mugs and sitting on the floor.  The absolute picture of marital bliss.  Then Friends, Lovers or Nothin’ came on;  it has that sweet power chord piano line and fancy guitar business, so Joey and I spontaneously began playing air guitar (Joey) and air piano (me).  We were serious about it, too, with emotive head-banging and everything.

I am a way better air piano player than Joey is at air guitar, but 12 years of real piano lessons will give that added benefit. Then we realized how ridiculous we were and we laughed until my Follistimulated ovaries hurt and I had to cry “Uncle!”

It’s going to be a good day, Internet.

I’ve got Joey and my air piano skillz.