Why I Shouldn't Blog At 3:00 a.m....

I can’t sleep.  In 30 hours I will be looking at pictures of my beautiful little embryos with the doctor, and staring at my toes while I take the next step towards becoming a Mommy.  I know I need rest right now, my glands are even a little swollen, which happens if I start getting worn out.  But I just can’t calm the butterflies in my stomach enough to get back to sleep.  So, I’m sitting here, sipping my orange juice and Emergencee, performing internet research on everything from “sensitivity of home pregnancy tests” to “first time donor egg success stories.”  What’s amusing (disturbing?), is that most of the websites come-up a different color on my search results, meaning I’ve already visited the sites at least once in the past.  I actually chuckled while reviewing a list, in order of sensitivity, of home pregnancy tests, because I was basically quizzing myself on a list I had already memorized…plus I already have three boxes of three different brands of HPT’s in my bathroom, as we speak.  There’s no way I’m making it to the beta without POAS…so I may as well be prepared.

Yesterday was a good day.  The Prince and I got along well.  I apologized for being hard on him lately (I can’t express how much I hate to be the one to apologize, especially when I think I deserve an apology too, but know I’m not getting one), and I promised to try to do better.  He said “Good”…but then smirked.  Things seemed to have clicked for him (finally).  Yesterday, he would just randomly smile at times and when I said “What?,” he would say, “Oh, I just am excited that there is going to be a little Hamish in your belly soon.” 

I don’t know if I’ve ever explained before, but my husband is obsessed with the name “Hamish.”  His mother came from Scotland when she was a girl, and he feels very strong ties with his Scottish roots, even though he only met his Scottish relatives once, as a boy (he almost wore a kilt at our wedding, but his legs are way hotter than mine, and that we simply could not have-lol).  So, he thinks Hamish is a good Scottish name, while I think it will likely get our child beat up by the Tyler's, Kayden's, and Ashton's of this world, every day of his pre-pubescent life.  Hamish is a good Scottish name...but it is not a good American name.   Even The Prince’s Mom has vetoed the name Hamish.  I think in his heart he knows we are NOT naming our child that, but he likes to give me crap about it at every turn and it has become our long-running joke.  So I know he’s in a good place mentally right now, as I spent lots of time yesterday hearing about how, boy or girl, Hamish would be our baby’s name…how the embryos would be more likely to implant if we call them Hamish because the awesomeness of the name alone would make them want to come into the world…and how he can’t wait to see the pictures of Hamish 1 and Hamish 2 on Tuesday, even if they do just look like blobs to him.

In addition to having a great day with The Prince, I also treated myself to a pedicure and manicure.  It was DIVINE!!!  I always forget how amazing pedicures are…until I get them, and then I don’t know why I don’t splurge on them more often…even in upstate NY, where your feet only get to come out to play a few months each year. 

I let the man doing my nails talk me out of my usual muted-mauve color, and into a cute (but VERY bright) pink.  I’m glad I did.  When he was done with my toes, I asked the man if he could paint one little white heart, on each of my big toes, to symbolize something special I had coming up.  There was apparently a language barrier because he said “Yes.  I do very pretty flowers for you.”  I said, “No.  No flowers.  Just two little hearts.”  He looked at me quizzically and brought me a pen and paper.  “Show me.”  So, I drew a heart.  “Ahhhhh” he said, and he went to work.  It was really hard not to laugh as he tried to figure out how to paint a heart on my toes.  I wanted to ask him if I could do it for him, but I didn’t want him to take any offense.  He asked two of the other women to come over to help, and they discussed my request in Vietnamese, pointing at my big toes and the drawing.  Who knew hearts weren’t popular toe designs?  I have taken a picture of what resulted.  I somehow ended-up with white heart’ish-shaped blobs with silver glitter in the middle, taking up a good portion of the nails on each big toe.  I know it looks horrible (and I also know that none of you probably want to be seeing a picture of my pudgy little feet right now…but a picture is worth a thousand words…so here’s the picture)

…but he was so proud of himself that I just smiled and went with it.  I am taking the whole amusing ordeal as a sign that things have been less than perfect on this journey, but I know what is important now and I can choose to be happy with “less than perfection.”

I’m probably going to wake up tomorrow (assuming I get back to sleep before I need to wake up for yoga and work in two hours), and kick myself for putting photos of my feet on the internet.  Mine aren’t exactly the kind of feet that are probably in “high demand” in certain shady circles, but still.  What would my Grandmother say?  Anyways, I will try to sneak in another post between now and when I go in for my transfer.  Thanks for listening to my wee-hour ramblings.