That’s what we named our little embryo.
After collecting 21 eggs last week — we had 14 embryos that fertilized. Of the 14, several were considered viable (I’m still waiting on a final count that we’ll be able to freeze) and we were advised to transfer one back to my beautiful uterus. Transferring two was on the table for a few days as well — we even flipped a coin because we couldn’t decide.
The coin toss said “two.”
We told the doctor “two, please.”
And then he started showing me some statistics about low birth weight, and the likelihood of having triplets, and I said, “yes, we’ll just take one, athank you!”
And so we did.
And I’ve been sitting in bed ever since, thanks to their mandatory 24-hour bedrest.
And man, am I bored.
I’m also decidedly less dressed than I was when I took that picture. The hormones I’m taking are my least favorite (which is funny, because they’re actual pills, I don’t have to worry about needles anymore!) because I’m on fire. all. the. time.
I’ve watched Harry Potter 7.1 & 7.2 back-to-back, and at least one season of Sex and The City. I don’t know what I’d do without a Netflix subscription, or the HBOGo app (or more importantly the wonderful, beautiful, skinny friend who gave me her password in the first place, who [last I checked] is not a year older.)
Also thank god for mothers who feed us. Even if mine didn’t bring a dessert.
And thank god for my husband — who is bringing me food, and water, and brought me a blanket for the thirty seconds I was cold.
And for adorable dogs who seem perfectly content to just take naps with me while I sit here, watching more tv.
So keep your fingers crossed that Maybe Baby does his/her thing.
And that Mike brings me some breakfast soon, because I’m hungry and hopefully eating for two (and not four).