Eventful day, let's say. I was completely sure last night that the stick would give the snow the run for its money. It follows then that I stared at the weak second line this morning for a while before walking downstairs to show JD. Mad dash to get to my GP for a progesterone script and a stat blood draw order, mad dash to execute both. Mad dash home to pack and leave. Slow crawl through traffic on the highway. A call from the lab-- hCG=59, progesterone=16.3. Today is 12dpo.
I can't see past Monday, when I might try to get a repeat test despite being out of state. I tried to make myself project to a few months out, or even to the possible first ultrasound, but no luck. That's ok for now, though. After the last six months this feels rather surreal, and so I will take this one day at a time. I can't even say, not even in my head, that I am, you know pr... Right. I concede that something is implanted somewhere, and I am more than OK with it continuing to be so. I am, as they say, comfortably numb.
We are at the ski house now, and it is, so far, ok. Not everyone is here yet, and it may get harder as the house gets fuller of people.
Now, everyone, this is very-very important, so pretty please with sprinkles on top, pay attention. Please, don't anybody use the C word. The one that ends with -ations and an exclamation point and implies a celebration, k? We here are firm believers in getupgrrl's* NBHHY (Nothing Bad Has Happened Yet) approach to all things not capable of independent sustainable life. OK?
*Unfortunately, due to some asshats stealing her words, grrl took down her archives shortly before she retired. If you weren't a reader, you missed one of the great good ones. My personal favorite has to be the one about the elevator, a guy dissing his post-partum wife, and grrl's snappy avenging of said wife using her cell phone as a prop.