My wife made the call this morning. We are transferring two. Halla-freakin-luia! In case you can’t tell by my bizarre word usage, I am wildly excited.
We made the decision last night on the couch over wine. The way all good decisions in our relationship are made. She’s been playing with the idea since last cycle and her lean has become more pronounced in the last few days, but I still wasn’t sure how she really felt until that moment. While I was shoveling humus into my mouth, she said “Let’s do it” and she had that comfortable, settled look about her face. I love that look. I immediately began to gush (I blame wine) about how I would just love it if we were lucky enough to have twins, which started her on the whole “what I really want are healthy twins” thing (which goes without saying in my view) and I thought we were going to be swept into “Very Real Potential for Medical Complication” conversation #gazillion and one, but she left it there. Yes, I want a healthy baby and so you do you. Enough. That’s all. Done.
Now, let’s go make babies.