Turns out the gut, it is full of shite

I took yet another home test before my 7 am official, medically certified pregnancy test appointment because I had one left and I didn't want it sitting there mocking me. Stark white. My butt in winter white.

So I kinda forgot to take my progesterone this morning (two suppositories three times a day - the joy at Chateau Beth never ends). I said screw it and had a cup of coffee and a cup of black tea. I made a date with a friend for sushi for tomorrow. I planned my next possible cycle dates. I rode roller coasters, chugged whiskey, and smoked up. Ok, maybe not that last part.

The clinic was supposed to call at 1 pm. My cell phone rang at 3 freaking 30.

"So... Mrs. G?"
"Yes"
"Born on a date you don't care to post on the internet?"
"Yes"
"You came in and took a test today?"
"Yes"
"At 7 this morning?"
"Yes"
"For Dr. R?"
"Yes"
"A pregnancy test?"
"Yes and for the love of George Michael will you please just let me get this horrendous phone call over with so I can go on drowning my sorrows in my whisky... I mean coffee... I mean wholesome water before I scream and cause a ruckus in my relatively new place of work that hasn't gotten to see the true quirkiness of me yet?"
"Congratulations, it is positive."

So I never got to watch a stick glow with the stinky goodness of a second pee line, but I think I can live without it.

(Beta is 148 and the next one is on Monday. Take that, stupid gut.)