A few nights ago, it was a rare occasion when Husband and I were at the gym at the same time. As we were waiting for the class to start, a guy who is probably in his early 40s came up to Husband and patted his shoulder. "So, I see your boys can swim!" he declared as he nodded in my direction.
I silently groaned. I hate that expression, but not as much as I detest the phrase 'shooting blanks'.
Without hesitating for a second, Husband set him straight.
"No." he corrected. "They were placed. Injected right into the egg."
Then, true to his nature, Husband had turn it into a joke.
"You see, they thought they were back in England and were driving on the left side of the road. Couldn't get to where they needed to go. In the end, they had to be air-lifted."
I was bursting with pride. His openness and honest disclosure made me love him a little more.
"Me too." the other guy admitted with some candour of his own. "'I'm in the same boat."
I wish they could have chatted some more, but it time to start the class. I hope they pick up the conversation again in the future. In a gym, a temple of masculinity and testosterone, two men were discussing their issues with male factor infertility. I often pause to reflect on my personal growth during our infertility journey, but I often don't give enough recognition to the progress Husband has made. It's hard to believe that someone who was once mortified at the thought that his efforts toward procreating would involve wanking into a plastic cup; is now out and proud.