Soup to nuts (ha!) and everything but the kitchen sink. I suggest a drink and a snack before you commit to reading.

My main problem is that I read stuff on the Internet.

I know, hilarious coming from a blogger.

Also, I've been dancing around this fertility topic, and I do a crappy job when I half-tell. Plus those of you who haven't ever been on this train must be bored as all get-out.

So I'm going to write this all down and then throw it out into the world and the MOVE the fuck on.

OK, I just cracked myself up with that line. Move the fuck on. I totally have a fertility Karate Kid in my mind. Fuck on. Fuck off.

Hahahaha!

Um?

So, here's how I get myself 73 kinds of worked up every day: I read all this stuff about infertility and age on the Internet.

Because technically speaking, we haven't actually been trying for an unreasonable amount of time. Nobody (as in, professionals) seems terribly concerned.

It's just that Jordan happened immediately, and I suppose I had these unrealistic expectations. And, as is my wont, I quickly jumped into fertility forums. I googled fertility and age and related topics.

I still do this on the daily. It makes me apoplectic ever time. And yet, I cannot seem to stop myself.

So I saw a reproductive endocrinologist (RE), because all Internet recommendations are, if you are old - and at 41.5 you are! - get yourself to an RE! Stat!

So the RE was all, yah, your insides look fine, and let's get a look at your husband's sperm and you go have an HSG, which is this test where they inject iodine into your uterus and see if anything is blocked. And here, have some Clomid.

They hand out those prescriptions like lollipops, it seems. I declined.

So, the HSG was kind of interesting, and my uterus and tubes are stellar, it turns out.

Nick was a little surprised by his need to prove himself, because Jordan, of course, was due to his mega-powered baby missiles.

While I, on the other hand, was all, "Maybe they're stuck in bacon grease. Maybe they're just gasping to get through. Here's the address and phone number. Use the Force, Nick."

And so, like the good man that he is, he called immediately. He said they showed him to a room and were like, "Read the instructions on the wall. Here's the porn."

It wasn't easy. But as I said, he's a good man.

It took some effort on our part to get the RE to call back with results, and when he did, Nick said he was clearly reading them as he spoke, and said, "So, Mr. Gloria, normal sperm amounts are X, and yours are...oh, hahahaha! Well! Clearly that's not a problem!"

Yah. So Nick is the proud owner of rock star baby missiles.

So then, the more I thought about it, the more I decided that it's scarring on my cervix, which is why it didn't budge one tiny bit when I had Jordan. Like, without exaggeration, the OB stuck her hand in my vagina, worked at it with some serious effort, to the point where her gloved hand was completely bloody when she pulled it out. And nothing.

Horrifying.

So now we're going to try IUI, which, if it is my cervix but not my eggs, will shoot the rock stars up past my cervix and put them on the path to meeting some nice egg and settling down.

Insurance doesn't cover it. And if you've ever looked into IUI or IVF, IUI is a relative bargain.

What they suggested is also taking Clomid, which tricks your body into making more estrogen, thus having you make more follicles, and upping your chances of squeezing out a good egg.

As I understand it.

But yesterday they surprised me with a prescription for a lot more than I feel comfortable taking. And I spent hours at the RE, and it was like a cattle pen there were so many women. At one point - that point being after I handed the financial counselor my credit card and authorized a large charge - I returned to the waiting room and all seats were taken.

I left close to tears, with the sense of being on an assembly line, hyperventilating because I just don't feel right about what seems to be a very cavalier approach to shoving hormones into my body.

So on the one hand, I am like, look, women all over the world have babies well into their 40s, and I'm healthy and I should just relax (hahaha!) and see what happens.

And on the other I am like, maternal age is the most important factor! Time is of the essence! Maybe I should just jump on the goddamn assembly line and hope for the best.

Nick has left a message for the RE. We are going to conference call him and ask for the rationale.

This brings us all to the present moment.

I don't know why it scares me so badly, but it does.