In one of my former lives, I use to sell cars. Yes, I was one of those people with a perpetually cheesy smile on my face and a business card in my hand. You would drive up onto the lot and see a group of us clustered around the showroom looking out the window and guess what we would say when we'd see you show up? "Ducks on the pond!"
Ooooh, we were so covert.
Once you were in an office and negotiating a price, we would go to our Floor Manager for approval with an announcement, "Fish on!"
Then there were the moments when your loan application was pending approval from your bank, which we relayed quaintly, "Throw it on the wall and see if it sticks."
Today, I got a phone call from the clinic. The duck is on the pond.
I start BCP as soon as I pick them up from the pharmacy and I have a saline hysterosalpingogram tomorrow morning to make sure my uterus is not harboring anything deemed clinically funky.
Final coordination is still weeks away, but I'm all giddy with excitement mixed with a sense of impending doom. Definitely the right mixture to make me jump and down and then puke in my trashcan.