Seven days have past. In seven days you can do a lot--like eat seven peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches. For me it seems I've done nothing but given myself 7 stabs, processed 7cc of progesterone, and well, ate 7 PB&Js (note: wine has been replaced by PB&J.
We've also watched a bunch of mini-videos with Baby K and The loving husband. So many times that he reported singing Twinkle Twinkle today at work. But my fave is The Wheels On the Bus to which Baby K has little movements. In an uncoordinated and sorry attempt at keeping time to the music, they are so sweet and precious. Meanwhile, the husband is taking up a new career rewriting the lyrics: "Mommy don't forget to do your shot, do your shot, do your shot. Mommy don't forget to do your shot to help make more babies."
And it's 8:35pm so cheers to day number seven. The seventh shot, in the seventh hour (if we were on central time). And to a weak week. Blah.