Well embryo, you're officially in my uterus. 'Sup? People might think I'm strange to be talking to you as if you're real, but you're real.. to us. Today was the transfer, which wasn't particularly pleasant, I'll be honest. (Is there ever a pleasant time to be had when a speculum is inserted up your lady parts?)
Seeing my super awesome husband tottering around in a surgical cap and gown was the highlight of my day - but he got his own back by snapping a horrendous photograph of me, which I'll share with you because I'm cool like that.
We gowned up and were ushered straight in the room, and guess who was waiting for us up on the monitor? IT'S YOU. The doctor said you were a perfectly formed 8-cell embryo, right on par for Day 3. Well done, you!
(Sorry for the dodgy photograph, that's what happens when nervous husbands are on photo duty.)
Unfortunately, your fellow embryo friend stopped developing yesterday, so this is it: you're our one and only. I think I'm going to call you our little miracle. Maybe we were only meant to get this far with you. No pressure or anything.
I'll spare you the gory (& slightly uncomfortable) details, but before we knew it, you were zooming up the catheter and that was that. They checked the tube to make sure you weren't being sneaky and hanging out there, but nope... you're with me. We ungowned, laughed giddily, and we were done. Easy as pie.
I have to admit, wee embryo, that I waddled my way back to the car with my knees touching. Yes, I had that irrational fear that gravity would have you fall straight out of me and end up on the sidewalk somewhere. We had a nice chat, you and I, on the drive home - though I should apologise for the foul language. Idiot drivers, you know.
Anyway, that's about it from me. I'm going to be busy resting up and making my womb as comfy and enticing for you as possible. I may even bribe you.. can I get you something? Water? Cookies? A car? You name it, I'll do it. Have fun in there, miracle embryo. I'll be here, googling every symptom and praying you'll stick around.
Signing off,
Aly