is this irony?

or tragedy?



or comedy?



or just plan ridiculous?



or just the story of my life?



Yesterday I went to the pharmacy to pick up my new meds. On a whim, a bought some hpts because they were on sale, and I've had a stomach bug for a week so I figured it couldn't hurt to rule out pregnancy.

I got home, took the test, and nearly passed out.

Positive. My eighth pregnancy. We've decided to knickname this one "The Ocho" (having just watched Dodgeball for the 90th time this weekend).

I almost had a panic attack because, since we weren't trying, I was not behaving like a good fertility patient - eating crappy food, drinking a lot, not taking my aspirin or folic acid, among other things. And, since this pregnancy has started out like so many others for me - I had bleeding and cramping this weekend and assumed it was Aunt Flow - I am trying really really hard to keep my mind open to the possibility that it might actually work out, to walk that tightrope between hope and despair.

First beta was 91 (not great, but not terrible). I go in tomorrow for the second. Fingers are crossed very tightly.


Oh boy. I hope I'm ready for whatever happens.