I had it all planned. Last BCP would be friday, which would mean period on tuesday, which would mean ovulation on a wednesday, transfer on a tuesday, and a due date of February 24. Sunday I spotted. Monday I spotted. And then finally on Tuesday I… spotted. Ummmm.

I felt like I should jump up and down and do some squats or something to get things moving, as if there was some magical button to press. It felt kinda like it was going to start, but it wasn’t freaking starting. One of the few times I actually wanted my period to come, and she was being a bitch. I was getting really pissy, because the whole point of being on the pill was to make sure I got my period when I wanted it. I have control over so little, so when something feels like it is in my control well it had better damnwell work when I tell it to.

Not that it would be a huge problem if it came a day later, not like the cycle would be cancelled or anything. But if it did it would mean transfer on a wednesday, so I’d have to miss another day of work, and the “new week” day of pregnancy to be thursday. Kel and I both said, “I don’t like that.” Thursday is the day that Devin was pronounced dead. Thursday is a Bad Day. Definitely something to avoid.

By some blessing the spotting turned heavier as it reached into late afternoon, enough that I could call it cycle day one and slap a patch on my ass to start protocol. I heaved a huge sigh of relief… and then held my breath again. One funny little side-effect of cycles going wrong, multiple negatives, a dead baby and pregnancy-in-a-tube: you don’t really trust anything anymore. I called the nurses this morning to let them know about the start of protocol, then waited uneasily for them to confirm the dates that it should all fall on.

And she did! Ultrasound and bloodwork on June 3 before starting progesterone, and transfer on the 9th. I am good to go.

First hurdle down. Many, many more to go.

::

Today was another momentous day for our household, another investment into our home-sweet-home: we ordered a new front door.

I have spent months researching doors. Not actively, but every couple of weeks I would check out the catalogs again and refine my preferences. Then it got to the point where every couple of weeks I would open up the page just to nod to myself that yep, that was definitely the one. Definitely. Oh so gorgeous.

Only then did I finally go to the store to get a quote. And then I went home and wailed. It’s HOW MUCH?!? For a DOOR?!

But the husband, after recovering from the price, told me that it is a worthy investment into our house, and it’s something I should be happy with for the next 20 years. We should get what I really want. (Note I said what I really want. He had input, but he knows it’s me that’s going to be either very happy or very unhappy and he really doesn’t want me very unhappy every day I come home and see our door. I think to him the price of emotional sanity is worth it.)

It was the right one. I looked at a bunch of other catalogs yesterday to make sure. It’s perfect. Den likes it. So today we walked into Home Depot, sat down, took a deep breath and plunked down a whole lot of plastic for a fancy new door-and-sidelites.

The act of making a large purchase inevitably has one major side-effect: I go home and proceed to freak out that we just made a Huge Fucking Mistake. I wanted zinc. But the door I wanted, the style I wanted, only came in patina. Was it too black? I think it was too black. OMFG it’s too black. It’s going to look nothing like what I pictured it! I went online searching for pictures… nothing, just the manufacturers very photoshopped photo-slash-graphic-design. Hyperventillating now. We have 72 hours to change our minds. That’s all. No returns after it’s been custom ordered.

Back to Home Depot. I ran over to the floor models, to the one that had the “patina” style. Oh, it doesn’t look as bad as I thought. I stood back. Actually… that looks quite nice. Sets off the design. Not too dark, really. I mean, the lighting makes it hard to see, but… I leaned in close to inspect it… okay, it’s not really black. I mean, it’s darker than silver. But not black. It’s more… pewter. Yeah, that’s it. Pewter. I like pewter. That’s kind of pretty.

So I jogged out front to where Den was standing to tell him, Yep it’s the right door, we can go home now… it’s pretty, I think I’ll like it.

Den rolled his eyes. He’s used to this routine.

On the way home, his new grill (our other purchase of the day) in the back of his brother’s truck ahead of us, he turned to me and said, “I’m not sure I like the grill.” I turned to him with wide eyes. He grinned and said, “Just kidding.” A few seconds later he added with a laugh, “A little taste of what I go through.”

Evil bastard.

But man, I put him through hell, don’t I.