Clomid: A New kind of Terrorism

As my husband is lying on the bed with his penis out, making comments and gestures, this is the conversation that transpires:

ME: “Are you really horny or something honey?” (I know, kind of a duh question with a man)

DH: “I’m trying to impregnate you. I can’t take many more months of this Clomid/Met stuff”

ME: “How do you think I feel?”

DH: “Yea, but you are like a terrorist. You strapped the bomb to your chest and I’m just the innocent bystander getting blown up.”

ME: “EXCUSE ME? I’m a terrorist…..(sputter sputter) and you are innocent?”

DH: “Okay, so maybe I’m more like the driver of the car, I KNOW you have the bomb strapped on, but I’m still innocent, but you are my friend. We are friendly suicide bombers.”

ME: “You may want to stop now, if you plan on having a chance in hell of impregnating me tonight. If you don’t like my crazy suicide bomber emotions now, what do you think is going to happen for the next 9 months?”

DH: “Yes, but at that point, I KNOW I’m getting something out of the deal at the end. I get a baby. Right now its just an unending walk in a mine field.”

ME: “So first I’m a terrorist suicide bomber and now I’m a mine field. Nice.”

DH: “Okay, so you are the Taliban begging for me to invade you. I know I’m going to get blown up but you are asking for it. So woman, prepare to be invaded.”

ME: “The Taliban huh? Invaded? You are such a romantic asshole.”

This is what happens when you marry an ex-marine. Everything in life becomes a military analogy, including IF. Yes ladies, my IF journey has now become my husbands crusade. He is conquering foreign lands and defeating IF with the shear force of his sperm army. His guns are loaded and he is making nightly forays into enemy territory laying siege to land waiting for the commanding egg to appear and the Talimoodswing Leader to change tactics. So far we have not won a battle, but we continue to storm the forts.

Oy Vey.