This morning, while the sky was still black and the husband still slumbered unaware in our bed, the first note of the swan song rang through the house with that rote motion, like muscle memory, of needle sinking into the soft flesh of belly. Today is the first day of my 6th and last round of stims. It’s funny how sometimes small things feel big and big things feel small. As my ovaries take the stage one final time, these little glass jars and plastic syringes are the only audience. And my hopes and dreams, like puppies, eager and fragile, easily wounded but difficult to subdue–they, too, watch with bated breath.