I can feel the lightening bolts and pelting rain positioning above my head as I type this. Here goes: I don't want this two week wait to end. I don't. Really. I want to reschedule my Beta for sometime in October. Or January. I want to continue to live in the glorious netherworld of the unknown; of the maybes; of the "is that a tad bit of nausea brought upon by my powerful sensory aversion to the pregnancy hormone, or should I just not have had that 3rd taco? I'm living in denial and I like it here.
I haven't bought any pregnancy tests either. And now that I think about it, I don't think I've even scheduled a time to go in for my beta. Who is this interloper who has taken over my type A, "give me control or give me death" person? No idea, but if she's a good cook and can get me out of the office on time, she's hired.
Seriously, I had "the" conversation with myself last night. It went something like this: "Self, you have no control over the outcome, just how you handle the outcome. Your period of blissful ignorance is coming to an end so it's time to deal. It was a shit cycle, but you ended up with four fairly decent blobs of potential human life (did I mention that my last embryo made it to freeze?). This was a seriously good effort, but now it's time to deal in the here and now. And you can handle the outcome. You have before, you can do it again. So, put down the faux daiquiri and smell the noncaffeinated coffee. And lose some weight while you're at it." Bitch.
So that's where I am. I wouldn't say that I'm treading water, just that I'm floating on a very comfortable raft on a river in Egypt with no natural predators and a good book. And, self be damned, I get to stay here for just a little while longer.