Moving On

Okay, I'm over the fact that we didn't get pregnant on our first go at it.

At work today, I was reading some new statistics from the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (seriously, I couldn't escape this stuff even if I tried since it's part of my job), and I was especially interested to read that according to their latest findings, a healthy 30-year-old woman has about a 20 percent chance of getting pregnant each month. I'm 31 (alright, almost 32) so I figure that if things are working as they should with my reproductive system — and my husband's — then it could easily take five months to get this show on the road. That means I really shouldn't expect too much these next few months.

So, after a few days of feeling mildly sorry for myself, I'm back to smiling at babies on the subway, waving at little girls in front of me in line at the pharmacy, and playing kickball in the hallway with the 1-year-old boy who lives a few doors down. I can't help it. I'm still hopelessly romantic about the thought of having one of my own.