Repetitive, Redundant...

So, in the dictionary under, “redundant” it says, “see redundant.” (Thank you, Robin Williams, for that little nugget. It’s one of my favorites.)

I called the social worker at the new IVF Clinic today. She asked me a bunch of questions about my home life, like: “You’re married, right? How long have you been married?” And “How many kids do you have? How old are they?” Then we moved on to the more pressing matters, like: “Do you have a history of drug or alcohol use?” And, “How do you think you’ll feel about relinquishing the child after it’s born?” The answers to these respective questions, by the way, are: Yes. Three years. One. Thirteen. I imbibed as teenagers do, but quit after my first semester of college. And as with the last two, I’m confident that I’ll be fine, since I can’t really relinquish a baby that isn’t mine.

It just seems like we could (and probably will) do this line of questioning at the all-day screening appointment; which by the way is confirmed for October 25^th.

The social worker seems very nice, to be fair, and I’m sure this is all just standard procedure; I’m just whiny because I’ve done all this before; I don’t see a need to do it all over again.