Please.

Spotting. Brown, not red, which I suppose I should be grateful for, in the way that you might be grateful after having your car stolen that at least you still have your bicycle. I am 9dp3dt, and it seems too late for implantation, and this is the time in a regular cycle that I generally start spotting. I have some cramping as well, though I have been cramping on and off since transfer, so that could mean anything. I am sitting here listening to “Please, Please, Please” by James Brown and thinking I know exactly how he feels.

But this morning’s test line was not faint. It was obvious, strutting into view almost immediately. Brash, bold, all “Say it loud! I’M PINK AND PROUD!” while the horns blare saucily in the background.
A blind man can see how pregnant you are, it whispered at me whenever I opened my purse to check on it (yes, I did take it to work, WHAT’S YOUR POINT?).

And then I went to the bathroom this afternoon and saw what I saw. I left work and called my clinic to pry yesterday’s progesterone level out of them, in case I need to increase my supplementation. But my progesterone was 33, which is apparently sufficient. (Or IS it?)

Oh, I don’t know what to think. The line is dark, so I’m happy. But I’m spotting, so I’m scared. I’m scappy.
I want my happy back.