The Lure of the Stick

I've been struggling to stay away from the home pregnancy test kit for DAYS now. I've been successful, but it's been very hard. I've found several ways to keep my mind off of "the stick," many of which involve zucchini and how to prepare it. (So far, cookies, bread, grated frozen for future cookies/bread, blanched frozen for future side dishes, puree for veggie casseroles, and - last night - relish. Oh, and I'm not done yet. I still have more zucchini from my garden. But, I digress.)

I had to wake at 4am to let our weak-bladdered chow out to tinkle. I went back to bed until 5am. In that short hour, I dreamed the following:
being in my bathroom and peeing on a stick -
trying to find a bathroom at the humane society so that I could pee on a stick -
running into a friend of mine at the human society who was finally pregnant (after years of trying and adopting three beautiful sisters - in real life, she's not pregnant)

I don't know why the humane society. I don't work there. I don't go there because we have plenty of fur-family already. Maybe it has to do with the fact that we bought this batch of insemination syringes at the local tack and feed store in the veterinary section?

By 5am, it was time to get up, and I couldn't wait any longer. After dreaming of peeing, I really had to go, and the lure of the stick was strong... too strong. It was pulling me, coaxing me, begging me. Blasted stick!!!

I temped first because I knew that if my temp tanked, all would be lost. Good sign: temp up to 98.2* from 98* yesterday. AAARRRUUUGGGHHH!!! I couldn't help myself. I just couldn't! I pulled the box out of the cupboard and tore open the stick pouch. I sat down. I peed. Being the good kid (?) that I am, I laid the stick on a horizontal surface to wait for three minutes. I can't bear to look at it for this time, so I covered it with a tissue and watched the clock.

After the allotted three minutes, I uncovered the stick. I picked it up. I cried. It was positive! (Insert "holy shit" moment here.)

Now, you must know, Bubba is a GRUMP in the morning. Shouting = not good. Shaking her = not good. Excitement and emotion = not good. She is also sensitive to smells. Bad breath = not good, even when it's relaying great news. So, I brushed my teeth and snuck back into the bedroom. I crawled back into bed and lay facing Bub. I caressed her arm and her cheek until she started to wake up. Then, it went something like this:
ME: Honey, wake up.
BUB: Frumaphfgmme.
ME: Honey, wake up.
BUB: Ganmmbemmsp.
ME: Honey.
BUB: Wha?
ME: I need to know what you're doing in 8 1/2 months.
BUB: Why?
ME (laughing): What do you mean, "why?" I'm pregnant. That's why!
BUB: Smmuphgga.
Then, after about 30 seconds, her eyes opened really wide, and she just kept blinking in disbelief.
ME: I've got to jump in the shower and go to work. Call me later.
BUB (blinking): Uh, yeah.

I left her a note written in soap on the bathroom mirror that said "In case you were too asleep to process the info, look down and say hello to Flicka." I left the stick on the counter.

I'm trying to be reserved and in control. I want to get into the doctor ASAP this time to try and avoid another miscarriage by checking my hormone levels and etc. If we make it past day 35, I will be ready to dance a jig. Until then, guarded happiness and optimism is the order of the day.