You may know that I talk a lot. Not so much that my mouth is always moving, but there is almost NOTHING I won't share with a stranger. To say nothing of friends.
The other day I saw a woman I worked with for one month, seven years ago. She was in the grocery store and immediately pointed to her new masterpiece: a two-week-old baby. She said, "This is what we've been doing." I accosted her with talk of babies and fertility. I told her about my infertility struggles, and it turns out that she did IVF too, and used my same doctor. "I'm 42," she explained. "Yeah, I'm 36." By the time our conversation had faded, we were at her car and her husband had unloaded all the groceries and snapped the child into the back seat.
The day before that I went to the chiropractor. My chiropractor is now on her second pregnancy via IVF. This time, she told me, it's twin boys. The first IVF rendered a little girl. She goes to the doctor we did our first IVF with. I think my chiropractic sessions run a little long because I don't shut up on the topic of IVF.
So in the meantime, our dear friend Eric Roston has come out with a book about carbon. It's called The Carbon Age: How Life's Core Element has become Civilization's Greatest Threat (order it on Amazon.com at http://www.amazon.com/Carbon-Age-Element-Civilizations-Greatest/dp/0802715575/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1215267153&sr=8-1). We love Eric, and we love his book. My college friend, this historian-turned-Russophile, at some point became a science writer, and he has devoted the last few years of his life to researching every little implication carbon has in our world -- from the oil industry to low carb diets to plastics. When James said that Eric talks about carbon as much as I talk about IVF, well, then I knew that I talked about IVF a whole, whole lot.
And as I draw to a close here, I'm thinking that you're wondering how our pregnancy test went. It is with great physical concentration that I tell you, "We're not talking." You remember that I tried this last time: if the test were positive, we wouldn't want to tell you for 12 weeks. And if the test were negative, I couldn't talk about it, lest you be able to deduce from my not talking about it that it was positive. You see, right?
You may also remember that after about 3 weeks I broke down and announced the bad news on this blog.
Not this time, baby. You will not hear one peep out of me for 3 months. Not about the specifics of what is or is not going on in my body.
I mean it.