How to describe?

... the mix of emotions I feel whenever we hand in our tickets, pass the "you must be so tall" sign and climb back aboard this ART rollercoaster? Or perhaps a better metaphor is the carnival games: you see the people wandering the midway at the state fair clutching huge stuffed tigers and you know that someone wins, sometimes. Despite the fact that you never seem to.

I can't help feeling hopeful. They wound up thawing four embryos; two were Grade B, one was so-so, and the fourth was probably-degenerating-but-you-never-know. We opted to put them all in. In this game, everything becomes significant: the u/s gel tube made a farting noise; Pili & I are inordinately amused by farting noises. It's an omen. A sign. This is The One.

And yet, I don't want to get my hopes up too high. As if I could protect myself from hurt by not hoping. How do you all do this?

p.s. Sambar & Idli got an honorable mention for cutest cat couple. We are thrilled beyond measure!