Nine

Nine. That's how many eggs we have. For those who are excited by numbers I can tell you that nine is two more than seven. As I am still in a drug induced haze, this won't be an overly flowery or descriptive post, I  don't want to scare you all off by going all Dali on you.

If I wasn't so addled I might tell you about the charming hotel we found just behind Baker Street or how staying in London the night before added an flavour of holiday excitement. I would mention the lovely Spanish receptionist who checked us in and my attempts to impress her with my rusty Spanish. I am certain that I would write that she was still on duty when we checked out and that she was too sweet when she told us she thought we were a very kind couple and much nicer than her average guests. I am pretty sure that, if I wasn't lazing in front of trash telly, you would hear about how smoothly everything flowed at the clinic; the kind elderly anaesthetist who explained how he got real joy from working within in NHS; the friendly embryologist who detailed how he uses Eeva and when it can be helpful. I would tell you about the simple lunch we had in a cafe on the way home but, most of all, I would shout out that I am so happy, overjoyed, excited and thrilled. Happy we got this far, overjoyed that we got nine not seven, excited that tomorrow I will know if we have created new beings and thrilled that we are one step closer to parenthood.