Needles, schmeedles. I'm having fun.

A full moon.

A warm night.

Eating expensive hot dogs with my man at Giants Stadium while

Sharing a simulcast opera experience (Aida) with 30,000 people.

I feel good. Been living my life lately, and getting back to what I like – biking on the coast, walking in the park, having dinner with friends on the deck, watching my night-blooming cereus blossoms open, enjoying wine with the girls, museum hopping, and learning how to dance Bollywood style.

Am I distracting myself from the REAL QUESTION? Sure.

My man is interested in adopting. He didn’t at first when we began all of this, but he’s had a change of heart. Guess watching your wife go through 4 miscarriages will do that.

Not sure how I feel, so I thought maybe it’s time to call in for help. Maybe a session with a therapist who specializes in infertility would help me/us sort all this out; it’s a huge decision, after all. He didn’t exactly understand the point of it, though.

I’m back to the REAL QUESTION: How does one know when enough is enough?

Last year when I went to my dentist for a crown, he began the process with a needle filled with dripping novocaine. Then another. And another. I’d wait for my mouth to feel “big”. Then he'd test. ZING!! Then another shot. And, yes, another. Then he said “OK. Today is just not our day. Let’s stop here and reschedule.”

As tempting as it was – just one more – I’m sure the next one will work --- he stopped. The next time I was nervous as hell, but realized he was right. Two shots, two tries, and we were good to go.

Well, the last 9 years have “not been my day”, at least as far as fertility goes.Now, my needles and syringes and alcohol pads and vials are in a brown box by the bed.

He was smart to stop the shots.

Would I be smart, or foolish, to stop??