No, not like that. Although the husband is still convinced that I have more tales from my teenage years in a girls' boarding school that I have yet to share with him.
Back to the topic. A discussion that is often raised in the blogosphere is 'should we tell folk we are having problems conceiving?'. (I still find it near impossible to use the word infertile - it sounds far too final.)
But why the dilemma? It is something that I have struggled with. I'm not ashamed. It is not my fault. It happens. No one is going to judge me and actually telling people might even illicit some good advice or sympathy.
And that is the problem.
We all know the kind of advice we would receive, usually backed up with a concrete example of "a friend of a friend's cousin did X and now she has 6 children".
Or the sympathy, at best, might leave me a blubbering wreck and the giver of said shoulder to cry on wondering if it would be heartless to forward the dry-cleaning bill. At worst the sympathy will take the form of pointing out people who are worse off. I know there are people worse off, I feel for them, I hope everyone's dreams come true but telling me about them isn't going to make me slap my hand to my forehead declare how blind I have been and start seeing the world through rose-coloured spectacles.
But, just to contradict what I have said above I have started to tell people. Initially just my closest mates but more recently other people who I suspect may be having similar problems or who I see often enough that I don't want them to start nudging each other should I not drink. Or those I fear will one day casually raise the "So when are you two going to have children?" topic. I'm pre-empting. And so far, its been positive.
The responses I have had have generally been supportive without seeing it as a green light for intrusive questions and it has felt like a weight off my mind. Turns out I should credit the folk I know with a bit more tact, and empathy.
One person I told recently was my Dad. Anyone who has been reading this blog for a while will know that a) I have been teetering on the edge of talking to him about this for ages and b) my Mum died when I was 15 so he has to deal with the emotional baggage of his three daughters as well as the more conventional DIY-expert/ plumber/ electrician Dad role.
So back in September (I know its taken a while to blog about it) I had a work meeting in a town near my Dad's so I took the opportunity to stay with him the night before. His wife was staying with a friend so it was the first time in years there have just been the two of us, no partners, no siblings.
He took me out for dinner and, in a very calm, unemotional way, I told him exactly what was going on; what tests I'd had; what the results were; our next steps. And my dears, this is the phenomenal bit, I managed to have the whole conversation without even alluding the the fact that I have sex with my husband, there are somethings a father never needs to confront.
He was brilliant. Only one blip when he suggested that maybe if I "didn't worry so much about it, it would happen". Deep breath. Explain how I have had irregular periods all of my life (I gloss over the period I was on the pill, see above, he doesn't need to know), so there is clearly something 'up', and anyway I wasn't worried at the start.
Now he asks how things are going with the "baby thing", but doesn't push it, and will frequently hand the phone over to my step-mother to dig for more graphic details.
I suppose the point of the post is to say on the whole talking to people in real life has generally been really positive and helpful. I'm not about to walk into a party with an opening gambit, "Hi! I'm infertile, what about you?" and, other than on a need to know basis, folk at work will remain oblivious. But I am less wary about talking to friends and family. These are people who care a lot about me, and they want to share the bad stuff as well as the good, and appreciate the trust that I have shown in them by telling them.
Until next time, take care of yourselves and each other.