Raining on my Parade

I go out to dinner with my best friend last night, one of our infrequent girls' nights out. I order steak tips.

"You have to have those well-done, you know," she says. "If the baby gets infected with some bacteria in undercooked meat, your chances of miscarriage increase by twenty."

Um, OK. Thanks for being the expert.

"And you know about soft cheese, right?" she continues.

Well, yeah, I've heard pregnant women aren't supposed to eat it.

"Lysteria. Harmless in adults, but babies and the elderly really have to watch out."

I know I need to be careful, banking on a yes tomorrow rather than a no. I know that. And I know these food precautions exist for a reason. But at the same time, in response to me saying that I felt encouraged by the fact that my basal body temperature has remained high since the transfer, my best friend says, "Oh, well, that's probably just the progesterone."

Thanks for raining on my fucking parade. I had a grand marshall, floats, bands, the Shriners, and you ruined it. I don't know what stick got up her ass, but it was not as fun an evening as I had hoped.

Test tomorrow, 9:00AM. Feeling calm and excited. And tired. And like I need to write a paper for class so that I don't have to do it tomorrow.