We implanted three "A" grade embryos out of our batch of 19. They were perfect: 8 cells, no fragments, still growing. It turns out each cell divides once a day, and we stuck 'em in on day three, so 8 or more cells is perfect (hence the awesome equation I derived all by myself).
Lia has to sit on the couch for a day, and then take some more drugs, then we get a preggo test on the 30th to see if they stick. I say "they" meaning one or two. Not all three!
This T-shirt from the XKCD store will be the first item of baby clothing we will buy when this is all over:
I don't think they sell it in a onesie. He, or she, or they, will have to grow into it.
There were four other embryos that were "B"s and still growing. So Dr. Patel (a skinnier, more Indian version of my brother-in-law Ernesto: super smart and totally awesome, and catches me off-guard a lot with random jokes) said we could freeze those if in a few days they grow up to be "A"s.
So if you are a radical fundamentalist, and you're keeping score, we have committed at least 14 acts of "murder" in the course of having one kid. That's from the two we didn't implant last time and the 12 we didn't implant or freeze this time. I just want to point that out for everyone at home.
Guess what? I feel great about the whole thing, because until we get something that actually poops, I pretty much don't care. We'll do some stem cell research with the rest.
We're stoked, eh!