Momotaro, our donated embryo is in! Here's baby's first head shot:
They did assisted hatching, so that's why it's kind of coming out of its shell. Momo is a little shy, like its dad. The transfer was easy, the doctor was nice (met her for the first time today and spent about four minutes with her), and the embryologist said it thawed well and looked good. What more can I ask for? More valium.
It really has taken a lot to get here. Not just the physical journey of getting in a car, then a plane, then a train/light rail, then a boat (Noah's family lives on an island off of Seattle), then another car-- but the journey of getting to embryo adoption. It's not exactly something you wake up one morning and decide to do. Some serious...stuff has to go down before one gets to this decision. And it is in that...stuff where we've learned and hurt and grown and compromised and stood dumbfounded with my pants around my ankles waiting for my morning shot and thinking, "how did this happen?" Learning to sit with and wade through the... stuff forces you to keep stepping up to the plate and swinging for the fences, even when you keep striking out. This...stuff teaches you to show up for yourself and your partner and your baby-to-be--even after repeated abuse and heartbreak.
I haven't always thought of this...stuff as a journey. There was a lot of time spent confused and crying--angry at how this was all playing out. I still have my moments, no doubt, but I just keep reminding myself that I will be a mom. Maybe I am right now as I write this. Mom to a day five hatching blastocyst that's been trying to implant into my puffy uterus lining for the last five hours and 14 minutes.
So now I follow Dr. Google's bed rest advice (did I mention I'm really bad at best rest and am totally not following the last bed rest protocol because this clinic says there is not need to be totally still) by eating pineapple core, drinking hot beverages, and keeping my feet warm. Even though I'm perfectly aware that Momotaro will either stick or not, the thickness of my socks and the temperature of my beverages give me some sense of control.
I have no delusions about having control over the outcome. Last night I freaked out because I've had greasy french fries three times in the past two days. Very unlike me. I suddenly became convinced that I'd sabotaged the FET by not eating healthy foods. Noah had to remind me that a few fries will not come between me and my baby. Any baby of mine will inevitably love french fries. What I can control right now is my optimism, even if it means the fall will feel that much farther. The fall will suck and hurt anyway-- I might as well send my absolute whole-hearted truth into the universe that I want this. I want this to work really, really bad. And in about ten days I'll know if it did.
Thanks to everyone for all the love and support, and good luck to my fellow Islanders who have procedures in the upcoming days!