4:44 p.m. - 2005-03-09

I got the voicemail on my way home this afternoon.

"Hi, this is Janice from the doctor's office. I'm calling to discuss your test results, please give me a call back as soon as possible."

Talk about freaking out. I almost lost control of the car while dialing the number back, and after five minutes of busy signals, I had to leave my name and number for them to get back with me.

I made it home about twenty minutes later and immediately called back to tell them that there's no way for anyone to get in touch with me during the day, so if Janice had anything important to tell me, she'd damn well better spit it out now and not try to just wait until tomorrow. Instead of giving me the run-around (like I expected), the receptionist transferred me back to Janice (who actually answered the call this time).

There's something wrong. My progesterone is low. It's supposed to be 20, but it's only 13.3. I'm completely freaked out. They prescribed me some pills over the phone, and I'm supposed to take them and try not to worry too much. (Yeah, right. Like that's possible.)

I knew my day had been going along too well. My observation was incredible--everyone I showed the paper to remarked that it was scored amazingly high--and I've been floating around all day with my good scores and baby thoughts in my head. Now I'm worried sick, and I don't know what to do.

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I am: so very many things. A mother, a wife, a dreamer, a lover of animals and babies, a friend. I've been called a bitch, but if that's what you call someone who stands up for what they believe in and refuses to settle, then I guess the title fits.

loves: my family, horses, a full night's sleep, puppy breath, my daughter's laughter, thunderstorms, bubble baths, makeup, soft sheets, David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs, wine, massages, the written word, and sour straws.

dislikes: closed minds, depression, pimples, extreme heat, math, panic attacks, black licorice, doing laundry, white chocolate, gin, Bush.