Second line reliably appeared this morning. I bought a couple more cheapy HPTs to get me through until Saturday--once I reach beta day, it seems silly to keep POAS.
Yes, I am saving all the tests and comparing the lines. Hell, I probably shouldn't admit this, but I still have shoved under my bathroom sink, way in the back, the HPTs I went through with my pregnancy with Bat Girl. Yes. I have in my home a collection of plastic sticks soaked in five-year-old pee. Don't judge me.
File under "chickens, counted before hatched":
• Yesterday morning my husband, after being shaken awake and having a pee-soaked stick waved in his befuddled face with the urgent whisper (Bat Girl was in the next room) "IT'S POSITIVE!", wandered into the kitchen and bleated, "I'm going to be FORTY-SIX YEARS OLD when this kid goes to kindergarten."
• Later, also from my husband: "[BG] is going to need her own room. She's not going to want to share a room with a 2-year-old when she's 7." Me: "Why don't we get through the blood tests first before we worry about that?"
Like I should talk. I expended a lot of energy yesterday thinking about when was the appropriate time to tell BG about a pregnancy. I also calculated my potential due date (July 28, in case you're wondering). It's all totally, ridiculously premature, considering I haven't even gotten my first beta yet. But I feel like I spent my entire first pregnancy, and especially the first few weeks of that pregnancy, tiptoeing around waiting for everything to go south, being afraid of what might happen. Being scared and negative isn't going to make it hurt any less if this whole thing goes to hell, so I might as well allow myself to dream.