My morning poke

Big B reached into our dwindling supply of progesterone the other day and he declared that we were "out of needles." Whaaaaaa? Apparently our drug provider of choice failed to put enough in our last refill. So, calling our friendly 24-hour pharmaceutical provider hotline, I was able to get a prescription for needles called into our local pharmacy. Except not the pharmacy by our house, oh no, but the one 10 miles away. But hey, that's okay - we'll do anything for our daily dose of hive-inducing progesterone in sesame oil. LOVE the way that stuff feels goin' in. Mmmmm, mmmm. Can't get enough. Especially at five in the morning.

As we pick up the syringes and needles, I notice that they're completely different colors than our last ones. And the numbers on the packages were really small (meaning really BIG needles). I asked the pharmacy, "are these the right needles? they look really big!" She replied back, "they're the right needles if you're a horse. They are very big." Since I am not a horse, although my arse is so big that I may look like a horse from the rear, we got things kind of straightened out. However, the syringes are actually too small so the oil can't get sucked up into the syringe without a lot of conniving.

There's a few things I really look forward to at my morning poke:

• The bonding time with my husband. It really brings us close together as he searches my ever-expanding derriere for a spot that has less cottage cheese and more, ahem, muscle. Sometimes it takes awhile and we get to chat about all kinds of topics like politics, our bosses, the meaning of our lives (at five in the morning).
• Having a warm, wet washcloth applied to my bum. Especially when it isn't wrung out and it drips down my, err, great divide, and makes a big wet mess of my undies and pj's.
• The left side. For whatever reason, my left "bum" is a lot more sensitive. I can feel every drop of that wonderful concoction going in.
• The Deep Breathing that I get to practice. Especially on the left side.
• The exit. Every, and I mean every time BigB takes the needle out, it hurts like a mother. I dread the exit. Loathe the exit. It feels like he's grinding it around, but he swears he's pulling it straight out.

I'll really miss the morning poke. Really.

Major Queen Itch

I got to spend the day with my mom today, which was super cool. I actually really like hanging out with her, and we rarely get to do it.  She agreed to assist me in the herculean task of finding a new butt cradle (i.e. couch).  Bless her heart. 

At one point, she cocks her head and says, "why do you keep scratching your ass?" She didn't really say ass. She said bottom. But lets face facts. Its not my bottom, its my ass, and she had caught me red-handed, hand down pants, scratching it. 

So I explained to her about my PIO-induced hives. I had thought my dogs had sprouted a new epidemic of invisible fleas, but after some google-oogleing, found out that it was probably hives from the PIO. Lovely. They are huge welts, and itch insanely. 

I have been caught by more than my mom. Co-workers, librarians, uncles, Thai-take-out-dude have all experienced my ass-grabbing. I now do it so often, that I don't even know that I'm doing it. It's a naturally occurring phenomenon. I will have a conversation with you, and my hand will gravitate toward my backside and just start a rubbin'. It feels sooooogooooooooood. I do try to keep my hands outside my pants, but sometimes,  in the privacy of my home or amongst family, I will admit that nothing will separate my hands from my bare hive-covered buttocks.