Too bad it's not real

I called my doctor's office this morning to ask if I should be concerned that my monitor didn't read Peak even though I did the trigger shot last night. Since I had the "shot mishap," I thought maybe it didn't work or something. She assured me that if I pushed the plunger in with the needle under my skin, it worked. That didn't really make me feel better, though.

During the day, I remembered that I had all of those $1 pregnancy tests from Dollar Tree in my closet and if I had the hCG in my system, it would show on the test. So I tested and there was my second line, which DID make me feel better.

Heck, that's the first positive pregnancy test I've ever seen in my whole life. Too bad it's not a REAL positive pregnancy test.

p.s. I really need some sort of "mad science" icon.

7th Heaven + Fertility Drugs = Madness

My Jennifer is awesome. She spent a good chunk of last night freaking out on my behalf because I was so pale that my lips were white after the whole triple-sticking fiasco. And this morning she woke up enough to hold me and tell me that I didn't ruin everything by messing up the shot. (Someone elsewhere online told me they think the Ovidrel needles are freakishly dull. I'm starting to believe that's true.) She was excited when I told her that I got a positive pregnancy test to show that the trigger was in there. She sweetly answered my, "What if this screws up my monitor?" randomness with, "We'll buy another one." She's the queen of the quick answer.

Maybe I'm just exceptionally sentimental right now because my body is all full of hCG and I just watched the last episode of Seventh Heaven. Man, those Camdens make me want to shout my love from the rooftops, apparently. And think about random sentimental things.

We're getting pretty close to the first anniversary of my dad's death. And I miss my dad. There's rarely a day that goes by that I don't think of something he would want to know about - stupid things, mostly. And tons of experiences I wish we'd be planning right now - like maybe another trip to Yankee Stadium for a Red Sox/Yanks showdown, or that cruise he said he wanted to plan someday. Heck, even imagining what sort of infuriating off-color remarks he would make about our babymaking process makes me wistful.

The sad truth, though, is that my dad's death is what's making this whole endeavor truly possible. Well, Blue Cross Blue Shield is helping, too, I suppose. But the little things he's left behind for us allow us to think about things like maternity leave and expenses. And that's huge. I always knew I'd never be the recipient of some outlandish inheritance - we're simple folks, after all - but I never imagined I'd be gifted with the ability to lay a foundation for two hand-to-mouth married girls to coast by on this rollercoaster.

And I know he didn't plan it this way, and I know that given a choice, we'd all prefer his presence to his safety net. But part of me seeks comfort in the fact that he's in all of this somehow, that his hand has dipped into the well of this process. And I think he'd be pretty effing excited.