I have very little hope this month. My obsessive peeing on sticks (my daily record was four) wasn't with the expectation that a cannily timed shag would result in pregnancy. Rather I hoped that, by knowing when to expect my period, I could work out when I was due for IUI number two.
So confident am I that, despite our sexploits, we won't get pregnant without medical intervention that I have booked a week off timed to coincide with the our next post-IUI two week wait. Well, I figured if I have to live through another interminable two weeks I might as well harness its power, and make a week off feel like a month.
But if, if, I am pregnant any doubts that I had last month are abated:
1) Swine flu hasn't raised its ugly head again. So hopefully that'll go the way of SARs, Bird Flu and The Plague. And the media will find a brand new disease to scare the bejesus out of us with.
2) My husband was definitely there for the conception this time. (Well in body, who knows where his mind was).
3) I have dyed my hair back its natural colour so I could, if pressed, last the next nine months without hitting the bottle again. (I say it is its natural colour, but turns out there isn't much of a market for dull beige hair-colourant, so it is as close an approximation as I could find).
4) Talking of bottles, I went to the works outing and publicly knocked back half a bottle of Corona and one glass of wine. I made sure everyone clocked the booze - gossip averted.
5) If it has worked this month then I'd be expecting a little 'un next June. Which gets the WFI seal of approval for 'A Good Month For Birthdays'.
Sigh, maybe the next week wait will be a little harder to bear.