After spending over two years navigating through the murky, choppy waters of infertility the sea has now become like a milk pond with no sights or sounds or anything of note. It is likely to remain so for the next six months. There are a few predictable dots on the horizon, Easter marking a year since I last knowingly ovulated, my one year 'blogoversary', my thirty third birthday (which tips me over the edge from early to mid-thirties - fuck), a doctor's appointment. Other than these however, the next six months are looking totally uneventful on the whole procreation front (that is what being on birth control means, I guess).
I'm not saying the next six months will all be plain sailing, I'm sure I am going to have to batten down the hatches and weather some more storms, and I'll probably find myself in the doldrums a fair few more times before I reach the mother country.
However, I don't want to spend six months repeating 'on birth control, not pregnant, 107 days to go ..' and neither do I want to stop writing. So I think that I might steer off course a little, try a different tack. Cast my net a little wider than infertility stories and write about ... gasp ... other stuff. My little foray into the almost unchartered territory of not banging on about not being able to have a baby the other day wasn't met with howls of 'Walk the plank', which I take as a positive sign.
You never know if I delve down deep enough and sail a bit closer to the wind I might uncover a few pearls nestling amongst molluscs of information.
So will you come along for the ride, or leave me high and dry?
Did anyone else hear Stephen Fry's programme about nautical metaphors the other day? Just sprang to mind for some reason...