I have decided to name this embryo Napoleon. (I can't bring myself to say something like "bean.") Possibly because of its small size, possibly because I use a large biography of Napoleon to keep all the ultrasound pictures flat, possibly because I really like the song "Waterloo," possibly because I have taken pictures of myself next to Napoleon's taxidermied horse and doggie in Paris, or possibly because I enjoy tormenting family members with the idea of naming my child Napoleon.
Today's true trauma: getting evicted by the RE. Despite clinging to the bed and saying "please don't make me go back to the regular OB clinic. I like it here, where everyone's nice and has a sense of humor. You can't just kick me out," they did exactly that. Not in a cruel way, mind you. They gave me recommendations for three doctors over in the other clinic, said to call if I needed them between now and then, and that they wanted to be kept in the loop. Still, back to the OB clinic. Where the waits are long and at least two of the providers have tested negative for personality. Which reminds me, I still haven't discussed the meat of last summer's Ectopic Adventure, including Rage towards the OB Clinic. To come!
Other developments: it's my last night for progesterone injections, which is good, because searching for knot-free Upper Outer Ass Quadrant Real Estate is about to drive my husband over the edge. Next up: progesterone suppositories. Vaginal suppositories, thankfully - I made sure to check that they were not butt-positories, because no thanks - I'll stick with the needles. I have IBS, I'm familiar with synthetic goods going in and coming out of my butt, but I generally don't have to put them in there myself.