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The February that will not suck

February is national black history month. It is also national bird-feeding month, national cherry month, national snack food month, and national humpback whale awareness month.

By coincidence, February also happens to be local "Fuck my ovaries" month.

This month will be a rest cycle for me. No drugs — not even Robitussin. (If I want that smooth, rich flavor, I'll settle for its close cousin, Southern Comfort.) No anxiety. No sex at ovulation, unless I actually feel like it — and, really, what are the odds?

No fertility procedures on my birthday, unlike the previous two years.

I'm in good shape at the moment. I'm not currently seething with hormones; I know what our next couple of steps are; and I'm not waiting for any particular clusterfuck to ensue.

Besides affording me a much-needed breather, this will give me ample time and energy to root for my friends. I wonder if I could get February named national giant foam pointy finger month, national paint-your-naked-torso-blue month, and national streak-across-the-field-at-halftime month. Because here I am on the sidelines, lustily cheering you on.