I was always the dumb one in my family.
Both my parents and sisters went to the best (or second best depending on your preference for light or dark blue) university in the country.
I have a vivid memory of fleeing from the dinner table in floods of tears because the four of them were sitting round working out the square footage of our walls and therefore the number of tins of paint that was needed. It was like an exam maths question was squatting at our dinning room table under the pretence of light conversation.
On car journeys we use to be set mental arithmetic challenges.
From a family of mathematicians, engineers and scientists I was the rogue arts person.
But, as a result, I always considered myself better than average when it comes with numbers, just not freakishly good like my family. It has given me a good grounding. When I am amongst 'normal' people I realise that I'm not as numerically challenged as I'd believed in my youth.
Or so I thought.
I've had to reassess this opinion of myself in light of the fact that I failed to calculate correctly how long six weeks was.
It turns out that I counted wrong. I will finish the pre-IVF pill packet not on the 26 of October, but the 17th. But I have already agreed the dates I am off work, starting on the 24 of October. Which is actually perfect as the first week of injections isn't that onerous and this way I should have a week or so break at the end of IVF, when I know the result, to either think about next steps or happily bask in a pregnant glow.
I know, I am an idiot.
But don't worry, I don't feel like the family dunce anymore. I mean one of my nephews can't even read and can barely string together a coherent sentance, and the other can only spell the simplest of words. I beat them.