My life is anything but boring.
Over the course of one hour:
– my dad booked us flights to Vancouver
– we planned a three day sailing trip through the San Juan Islands
– I told my dad we were trying to get pregnant
– I was berated over iMessage and things like “I was damning the child to hell”, and “the child will not be raptured”, and the “rapture is coming soon” were mentioned
– I was threatened with being disowned if I tried to get pregnant
– I was disowned by my ultra-Pentecostal, fanatical father
– our flights were cancelled
And now here we are, just under 12 hours away from our embryo transfer. One day I will address my very complex relationship with my father, but not today.
I got an urgent-sounding voicemail this morning, from the embryologist at the fertility clinic. They were trying to convince me to transfer only one embryo. According to them, I am young (32), the blastocysts are of excellent quality, and they don’t think it’s necessary to transfer both because they think the chance of success will be high given my stats. I argued with them for a minute or so, and maintained that I want two thawed and transferred. I realize that there is a chance of twins, which pose their own unique risks, but I’m healthy and willing to take the extra 10% chance of having one successful live birth by putting two instead of one (60% vs. 50%). Plus, DW had two transferred during both of her FETs and none of the four ended in a live birth. Interesting that they didn’t call before hers to discuss this, even though we used my eggs.
Anyway, it’s been carbalicious around these parts. Yesterday, we drove across two cities to shop at my favourite gluten-free bake shop, Molly B’s. They have the best breads and desserts, and Friday is the best day to buy from their storefront as bread is baked that day. I bought three loaves of cheese bread and one tray of butter tarts. Her brother also owns a gluten-free business, making specialty artisan breads and pastas. I got to taste-test their Calabrese baguette, and bought one immediately because it smelled like real bread, tasted like real bread, and was chewy like real bread. His bakery is called Nate’s Bagels. His loaf was so delicious, that I pretty much demolished it in 24 hours.
DW picked some Roma and yellow pear tomatoes, basil, and garlic from our garden and I made bruschetta. We’ve basically been eating bread and bruschetta for the past four meals. Here’s a picture of Molly B’s gluten-free cheese bread, our homemade bruschetta, and some chicken breast (for good measure).
Tonight, I’ll eat some pineapple, watch some Netflix, and dream about babies.