Wee Bit of Stress

Not that I'm proud of it, but I did just send the following email to my husband, in response to his quasi-indifference about which fertility clinic to go to:

Right, Ezra, because I'm really looking forward to months, if not years, of being poked and prodded and drugged up and crazy. And having our kids conceived in a petri dish or at least with the aid of various medical professionals, instead of just by the two of us, drunk on a Saturday night. Just what I always dreamed of, didn't you know?

I think I need to lay off the caffeine.