As of yesterday morning, all seven embryos were still developing perfectly. So the docs decided that it was worth risking waiting two more days to do a 5-day blast transfer instead of the originally-scheduled 3-day transfer. As of this moment, we're planning on transferring two blasts tomorrow (Monday) morning.
It's funny, going back to transferring two. Way back in June, when we first discussed the idea of IVF, my doctor told me that was our goal-- a 5-day transfer of two embryos. As we started getting more information from my crappy body and the doctors' expectations for my cycle started plummeting, that got changed, first from "we'll put back everything you get," then to "we'll pick the best four."
The idea of transferring four initially terrified us. Although Dr. Bad (who I actually kind of love now) assured us that the clinic has never had a set of quads, and has only had three triplet pregnancies, we were taken aback by even the merest chance of high-order multiples. But The Boy and I went out to dinner and hashed the idea out over fondue. We ultimately decided to go for it, thinking there was very little chance they'd all stick, and that transferring four would give us the best chance of at least one actual baby.
No sooner had we made that decision that the clinic called and we were back to two. And now, of course, the idea of transferring so few is freaking me out. It's funny how quickly one's perspective can shift on these issues -- a week ago, I'd have been ecstatic to have two good embryos to transfer at all; now I find myself hoping that all seven make it to blast (they won't, the embryologist assures me).
At any rate, at this time tomorrow, I should have two embryos on board. And then it's all about trying to convince them to stick around.