Choose Your Own Adventure (even if it's only imaginary)

That's right, I have decided to Choose my Own Adventure.  I might not get what I want in real life.  But I can type it out to my heart's content.  And who knows?  I have thus far found some strange imitations of my writing in my life, so maybe...

The paperwork to secure and contract with the new egg donor will go smoothly, and Surrogate will also be willing to try again as soon as medically indicated.  The egg retrieval will be in late July.  All of the eggs will fertilize, and they will be grade A embryos.  They will implant the first two.  Either implantation will be 31 July, because that is my beloved Mama Phyll's birthday, or that will be the day of the beta-hCG.  And that beta-hCG will be positive.  Very positive.  And it will quadruple forty-eight hours later.  Because -- as we will discover at the six-week ultrasound -- the embryos both implanted and Surrogate is carrying twins.  And at the six-week ultrasound both embryos will measure six weeks.  And they will both have strong, perfect heartbeats.  And at eight weeks both embryos will measure eight weeks, and they will both have strong, perfect heartbeats.  And they will continue to grow, right on schedule.  They will be perfectly healthy.  And Surrogate will also be perfectly healthy.  She won't even have a day of morning sickness.  And somewhere around eighteen weeks, she will feel the babies kick.  They will continue to kick.  At the twenty-week anatomic scan both fetuses will be found perfectly healthy again.  They will continue to grow and develop and everything will be just as a pregnancy ought to be.  And at thirty-nine weeks or so,  husband and I will fly to Surrogate's state so that we don't miss a moment of our children's lives.  And then our children will be born on Mother's Day.  Surrogate will have a quick, painless-as-possible labor, and minimal blood loss, and feel ready to dance by the next morning.  The obstetrician will let me help catch the babies so that I am the first person to hold them, and Husband will cut the umbilical cord.  I will carry them over to the warming tent and will calculate their Apgar scores (10 and 10 at one and five minutes for both children) along with the pediatrician.  And I will not leave them for a nanosecond.  And I will kiss their beautiful, soft foreheads and checks and Husband and I will bless them with the traditional parental blessing, whether it is to be like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah (daughter version) or like Ephraim and Menashe (son version) and we will recite the She'chechiyanu.  And we will tell our babies how much we love them.  And they will be discharged at forty-eight hours of life after an uneventful course, no hyperbilirubinemia or anything.  And at one week, when we fly home, the entire plane will congratulate us on our sweet, beautiful babies.  And then we will have the biggest simcha my little city has ever known, whether its a zeved ha'bat and/or a bris.  And our little home will fill with well-wishers and there will be a table literally overflowing with sweets of every kind, from every country.  And the entire time, I will cry with happiness.

And maybe then it will stop hurting.