Wednesday, 27 May 2009

Lapped

Before I had hoped
To have babies the same age,
Possibly this time?


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My first attempt at haiku. I would thoroughly recommend checking out IF in Tokyo for a true master.

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And for something a little longer, watch me try and put a positive spin on taking a long time to get pregnant at Fertility Authority.


Sunday, 24 May 2009

Happy Blogoversary to me

For the first three minutes of its life this blog was called Wombache, then I saw sense.

I started this blog because I felt lonely. I have lots of friends but at the time I only knew of one who was having difficulty conceiving. I wanted to find people going through the same thing as me. I wanted to hear about how they coped. But I couldn't find any. (I know, God knows what search term I was using, infertility bloggers are like pregnant women - they are everywhere as soon as you start looking).

But Wombache? It was just too damn depressing. Yes, the infertility does get me down but who wants to read one long moan? Let’s face it, infertility is fucking shit but it isn’t life threatening and I refuse to let it take over my life.

So I try to write about infertility with a light touch. I try and keep a sense of humour about it. I hope the title reflects this, that and my love of puns.

If I am honest I didn’t expect the blog to last. I had a sneaking suspicion that I was over-reacting and I would get pregnant any day. I thought I’d loose interest as I have with so many other hobbies (knitting, millinery, playing the trumpet). I thought I’d run out of things to write about.

My journey over the past year has been characterised by complete inactivity. I’ve had a few investigations but I haven’t knowingly ovulated since March 2008, and since October I’ve had to be on contraception of one form of the other. I don’t even have the will we/ won’t we of the two week wait to write about. There has been a fair amount of barrel scraping.

So why do I keep going? It is you lot. I started because I couldn’t find anyone going through similar experiences but pretty quickly I got linked in to the whole community of infertile bloggers. There is hope when you read about people who have gone through seven kinds of shit and finally get pregnant. There is support when you have a terrible test result. There are the brilliant comments when you write something that captures the imagination.

I started the blog to write about my feelings, to keep (close) friends up-to-date with the daily machinations of my uterus and to precipitate a pregnancy.

One year on I keep writing this blog because of the comments, feedback and because I feel a real connection with my readers (the majority of whom write blogs that I read).

So thanks guys for continuing to drop by, and hopefully come August things will get a bit more interesting around here.

What about you? Why did you start blogging – and what keeps you going?

(And those of you who notice a few posts from before 25 May 2008 - I added them later whilst I was trying to clear up my side bar and I don't know how to put an undated post in.)


Friday, 22 May 2009

Whatever

Another night, another pregno announcement.

Natch.

Do I care that they weren't even together when we got hitched?

To be honest, not really.

I don't know if it is the booze-anaesthetic or I'm use to it, or what. But I felt almost nothing when she told me. It is totally the whole house buying conversation. Yes, I want a bigger place with a garden but I don't think just because she got the house I can't still have mine. She doesn't by the way, she has a one bed roomed place, but that isn't the point.

It is an analogy.

I'm pished.

And I was pretty fucking fabulous this evening though despite everything. I am considering hiring myself out for anecdote potential alone.

In addition to the pregnancy annoucement I was also, by an unrelated couple, invited to a wedding next year. They are being thoroughly modern about their nuptials. They'll carry on living in their respective towns, living several hours apart until, in their words, "I have a baby".

I will have to slit my wrists if the happy couple give birth before I do.

Considering they are both men.

(Sigh. Watch this space. The race is on).


Thursday, 21 May 2009

Future Planning

I spent this morning strategising.

I wish I could show you the power point document that the senior manager delivered but a) I like you too much to enforce a document that turgid on you and b) it would probably be stretching the bounds of my professionalism just a little further than necessary.

The highlights were:

Environmental Changes Affecting Strategy (yes, we are all about the catchy heading here) we had amongst others:
  • The Recession
  • Local and National Government Changes
  • University Enterprise and Research Strategies

And my personal favourite:
  • Maternity leave of 2 key staff members

How we laughed at that one. The banter around the table was that contraception should be mandatory. Wondering whether Human Resources would endorse compulsory sterilisation. And apparently no one else is 'allowed' to go on maternity leave. Much, much, fucking hilarity.

We ended the meeting with a request that we forward plan. We need to send our department head a sentence saying where we would like to be by 2012.

I’m not sure ‘at home with at least two children sitting on a healthy redundancy package’ would be acceptable. Which is only slightly more realistic than ‘representing Great Britain at long distance running at the Olympics’. Unfortunately I think she wants something along the lines of ‘increasing turnover with new products and blah, blah, blah’.

I love my job, I really do. And my colleagues (my completely unaware colleagues) are great. But sometimes ...


Friday, 15 May 2009

Being driven to the edge

Once again we had to make the perilous journey to the outreaches of the M25 to take the dog to kennels for the weekend.

Luckily this journey was significantly less eventful than the last. But it did reaffirm my hatred of driving.

Baby On Board signs.

I mean, really. Why?

Oh, I know the theory. Contrary to popular opinion, it isn't to make other drivers decide not to crash into you on that particular day. It is in case you have a car accident whilst carrying a baby, you don't want the ambulance folk to miss a child crushed in the back whilst the unconscious parents are ferried to hospital. That is why they are a-fixed to the window with suction pads. Easily take on-and-offable depending on the afore-mentioned baby being on board, or not.

What I object to is the people who keep them on whilst their car is without child.

And what I particularly object to is the signs that I saw today - on the same car:

Cheeky Monkey on Board

And

Mummy-to-be on board

After wasting 1.57 minutes trying to decide whether the Mummy-to-be had actually been, and the progeny was the cheeky monkey, or whether there was already one cheeky monkey and she had another on the way, I noticed that the car was being driven by a man. Alone.

Which leads me to conclude:

This guy cannot afford a Ferrari, so the only way he has to prove to the world at large just how much of a man he is, is to proclaim his virility by signage on the rear window of his Citroen Saxo.

Of course all it makes me think is:

Yeah, and I bet neither kids are yours.

So am I:
A)
An Acrimonious Asshole
B)
Bitter and Barren
C) Irrational and Infertile
D) All of the above?

I need a holiday.

I'll be back next week, in the meantime keep an eye on Fertility Authority - I'm due to have another post published there shortly.



Monday, 11 May 2009

Peas in a pod

So I'm in a meeting this morning with a young artist.

He is very handsome, creative and charming, but there is something more.

I find myself doing a mental comparison:

Mousy hair - check
Pale skin - the same
Stubble - with the correct proportion of brown and a worrying amount of the ginge
Eyes blue - a little darker but not too far off
Height - right
His lower lip is a bit thinner but definitely a similar shape and the upper is a direct hit
Nose - this is key. The husband has the perfect nose (and no, that isn't a euphemism) this guy's is close enough - isn't too bad, straight, not to big, not too small. Yeah. A good shape I could live with that.

He's as close as damnit to the husband.

What has the world come to when I find myself eying up other men, not as objects of lust but as potential sperm donors even when the husband's ejaculate has passed all its tests.

Have I completely lost the plot? Am I alone in this?


Thursday, 7 May 2009

Always line your stomach

"I fucking love you."

Or that should be "Jy fushing ludge vooo."

My nostrils are assalted by stale beer and day old sweat.

He is trying to tell me something else.

"I genuinely have no idea about people you left. You can let people go mental when they have a reliable whatnot of doing whatnot. You meet people and are like, fucking, 'I love you' then you stick fingers in their nose and their ears and you learn to play bass guitar and its all good."

After two weeks of flat out working in preparation for a pitch today the husband went straight to the pub at four after the meeting having not had breakfast or lunch.

After stripping off his suit and dancing around the living room in his shirt, new pants and socks with the dog he is now passed out on the bed. (I have a picture of the former but feel it is maybe not fair to share).

And my stomach hurts from laughing so much.

At you darling, at you. Not with you.

(I fucking love you too though and I wonder, when this pops up on your reader tomorrow morning, if you'll have any recollection of this).


Tuesday, 5 May 2009

How good is your memory?

Ok. I have some questions for you:

At the age of 7 years, were you thinner, about the same or heavier than other girls of your age?

No?

Try this one:

At what age did you stop growing taller?

Oh, come on, dig deep. Surely you know this:

How many weeks was your mother pregnant with you when you were born?

Now try and answer those questions without ringing your Mum.

I am currently filling out a 45 page questionnaire. On the plus side it is all about me, which is one of my favourite topics, on the minus it is asking me things that I just don't know.

Here's another one:

Please tell us the average amount you drank at different periods of your life: Beer, larger, stout or cider (pints per week) aged 18-24

I was seeing double for most of that period, how the hell can I count that?!

Surprisingly this questionnaire is neither to probe my fertility or to grant me entry into the top echelons civil service. I've joined Breakthrough Breast Cancers Generations study.

Their aim is to sign up 100,000 British women delve into their lifestyle and monitor them over many years to see how genetic and lifestyle factors can affect your chances of developing cancer.

I won't get screened so it doesn't help me with the dilemma that even though my Mum first got breast cancer aged 37 they still won't give me a mammogram before I am 40. But lets be honest, I'm not being totally altruistic, if this helps with the search for the cure I see it as back up life insurance.

Oh, oh! I know the answer to this one:

Was there ever a time as long as a year or more when you tried to get pregnant, but did not?

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For more details on the study, and how to sign up follow this link: Breakthrough Generations


Sunday, 3 May 2009

SEX

I thought that might get your attention.

Sex has become a contentious issue. And one that we are all talking about.

Bottoms Off And on the Table
recently bemoaned her failing sex drive and the comments show she isn't alone.

One of my first posts was about the pressure we (or rather he) is under to perform like Ron Jeremy, for a few days each month. Whether he feels like it or not.

But now I find a couple of days a month just isn't enough.

A book I am reading at the moment says:

"Couples not using contraception have, on average, about an 18% chance of conceiving normally ... Couples having sex more than twenty times a month have around a 35% chance."

(A Child Against All Odds, Robert Winston, 2007, my review here).

I know that at the moment the issue of whether we do, or don't have sex is immaterial given that I still have three months of the coil to go, but back in the day when I hoped for conception the traditional way, and as soon as possible, I figured out a way to develop an olofactory on-switch for the husband.

For further details read my Fertility Authority post - The Sweet Smell Of Success ...


Friday, 1 May 2009

Just one (or two) things

Do you know what pisses me off?

When someone sends me an email about their pregnancy news, I pull myself together, send a quick congrats email to the sender. Done.

But then you'll get the person who does a 'reply all', followed by someone else who wonders what everyone is up to that night, followed by another suggesting a local hostelry to meet in, followed by another email disagreeing with the choice and suggesting an alternative and so on until you come back from a half-hour meeting to discover your inbox has 84 emails all with the shouty heading "Exciting News!!!!"

To use a high brow literary metaphor, it makes me feel like the Durdsleys in the first Harry Potter when they get engulfed by letters enrolling Harry to Hogwarts. (Although I must stress that, much like the Durdsleys, the fault is entirely with me, rather than the email senders who have no idea what I am going through).

Oh, and another thing.

When you come round to my house with your children, it's brilliant. Thankfully I'm not at the stage where I find hanging out with kids difficult. I love it and it reaffirms my belief that I'll be a great mum.

But, but, but, but. Can you not put dirty nappies in my kitchen bin? I mean really! We have a perfectly decent bin in the bathroom which adequately holds at least four nappies. And you know when you say that because your baby isn't on solids their poo doesn't smell? That is utter, utter crap (literally): it really does, but you are immune to it because it is constantly seeping out onto your clothes so your nose has developed some kind of self-defence off-switch mechanism. Unfortunately when you dump your diapers right next to our kitchen sink my nose hasn't had the training required to find that in any way acceptable.

Remember people: USE THE BATHROOM BIN (or for extra brownie points do what a mate did recently and put them in a nappy bag and take them away with you - that, JW, was awesome).

Whew. What a relief, glad I got that off my chest.

If you've got any rants Fertility Authority are running a just one thing campaign your chance to tell a fertile person just one thing. 'Cause apparently it is National Infertility week.