Not the best swimmers

We nervously tore into the official-looking envelope from the andrology lab. Well, okay, I did. B looked on with feigned indifference, but I know he was curious. It was like getting your SAT scores in the mail...you desperately want to see the results, you've been checking the mail every day looking for this envelope, and now that it's here, you're not sure you want to know.

Here's what it said: he has millions and millions of the little guys (262 million to be exact), but only 23% are "progressively motile." What does that mean? The other 77% are swimming around in circles? To add to the ambiguity, his "overall fertility score" is 18, which apparently falls in the "moderate range." I watched B's face like a concerned mother trying to figure out how her child feels about his below average test scores. And he just laughed and said, "with my weak swimmers and your retroverted uterus, no wonder we can't get pregnant!" Somehow, this comment made me happy, because I felt, possibly for the first time, that he was acknowledging we're in this together. We're both terrible at making babies.

With only a few decent swimmers in the bunch, our odds at conception may not be the best. But it could be worse...as Lloyd said in Dumb and Dumber, "so you're telling me there's a chance!"