Ummm, beer.

Bring on the alcohol. Sangria. Frozen mudslides. Summer ale. The blood test was negative once again.

I was so proud of myself for not fretting during this 2ww. When I went to buy the Monistat last night to cure the lovely progesterone side effect, I didn’t even seriously contemplate buying an hpt even though they were quite literally side by side. I knew I wasn’t pregnant. Yet, there was a sliver of hope somewhere inside me that had fantasized about leaving work at 2pm and surprising D at the office with the news. And that sliver of hope forced me to become a little choked up on the phone with the nurse when she called with the results. But now, 10 minutes later with nary a tear shed, I’ve already left a message for my doctor to schedule an appointment to discuss the next step and am determined to move on with my day. I have a manicure and facial scheduled at a fancy-shmancy spa and by golly I'm going to enjoy it.

D will be out of town from 7/5 – 7/15 or so for work (unless the case settles), so next month is going to be an off cycle anyway. I’ve got one of my best friends visiting tomorrow, and next weekend I’m heading to Boston for my parents 120th birthday party (every year they have a bar-b-que on the 4th, and this year they turned it into a party since they both turned 60 within the last month) and hopefully a Red Sox game at Fenway. Bring on the alcohol.