oh boy.

via (emersonmade)

I couldn't help myself. I just could not. After hearing the good word from my nurse last Thursday, I could not control the compulsion to purchase this little mouse. As a gift. For our baby. Something about that cute little belly and flopped ear. I don't know. I told you, I couldn't help myself.

Then the weekend rolled around and my husband took off to Alaska for a business trip until Friday. I drove him to the airport early on Sunday morning. Later that morning, I was in the loo and I *swore* that I saw some tinged discharge (I still have to pop these progesterone supplements and they discharge. oh boy, do they discharge). I *did* see tinge.

Next, I became a wreck for the following reasons:

One: Nothing. Ever. Good. Comes. From. Spotting. At least not my spotting. I've had a lot of it, so I'm something of a spotting expert and I fear spotting. Fear it a lot.

Two: There was no one for me to tell. No one at all. We haven't shared the news of our little poppy seed with anyone. My husband was in the air for the next three hours only to touch down briefly and get back up for another four. Panicked isolation.

Three: I knew buying that mouse was premature. Knew. It.

I knew that I couldn't do anything about it at that point. I tried to remember that, to surrender to a what will be, will be calm, but let me tell you that is much easier said than done.

Fortunately, my third beta was today. It should have been at least 500.

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It was 710.

and no further tinge sightings.