American Invasion

It's a good thing we're having a month off. My parents arrive tomorrow for an extended visitation.

Now, don't get me wrong. I adore my parents. I see them, on average, 2 or 3 times a year, usually in bursts of 2 to 3 weeks. Occasionally, when they are not planning trips to South America, or bobbing around the Gulk in their boat, they come here. For a month.

There have been occasions in the past where I have surreptiously eyed the calendar, realising I was going to have to miss a really great party because they were here. Or reschedule some particular outing. The only time it was a problem was when I having this really hot, totally clandestine relationship, and there was no way round the fact that they were there, in my flat, asking awkward questions. Like why was I coming at 3am with mud all over my jacket? Well, Mom, Dad, he was hot. Really hot.

This time the decks have been more or less cleared for their arrival. I had the rubella (correction, MMR) jab planned to coincide with their visit, since it seemed a good time to skip the old TTC carry on. Because, honestly, the last time we tried to do ye olde dance of babymaking when we were all staying in the same house, E. made us go into the bathroom so they wouldn't "hear." One broken towel rail and two sore knees later (don't ask), I still wasn't pregnant.

All of this adds up to absolutely zero likelihood of frolicking in bed like naked seal pups for the purposes of procreation or otherwise (oh, you mean there is another purpose?) while they are here, staying in the next door bedroom. And I'm OK with that. But I already have one eye on the calendar, because you see, last month AF came early, which means if my body stays on track, we are going to be perilously close to O time just before they leave. Failure to find a workaround means two months gone. Which I am not sure my trembling bottom lip can take at this point.

Also posted at Who Knew.