If DH Ever Reads This Blog

It's 7:48pm on a Friday night, and I'm in bed with my laptop while watching All My Children. (The soap opera, I'm obviously infertile and they aren't really my kids.)

Hellcramps from hell. Gawd. They haven't been this bad before - at least from what I can recall. M/C, yes. But the true, true Hellcramps? This might be a first. That or they're forgotten after it's over. (Along the lines of the L&D theory that the lucky ones share, except without pregnancy or a baby.)

Anyway . . . I'm writing in a lot of parentheses tonight. And it took me over four minutes just to write that rambling there.

So, DH comes into our bedroom to find me hunkered down in the covers and enjoying the heat of my laptop on my large, infertile belly. He asks how I'm feeling, and I'm more than happy to tell him. DH, being the smart ass horn dog sex depraved man kind helper that he is says, "I wish the penis could help." (Note: "the penis" would be referring to his own and only his own.) I kindly thank him, smirk, and send him away to fix me some damn dinner.



I love that man. If he ever reads this blog, he'll either leave me, kill me, crawl in a hole, or just plain croak. :)