H found a huge bargain on the internets, and bought a bundle of pregnancy tests, you know, at half-pence each or something similarly irresistable. We knew I’d need a few in the lead-up to the HSG – my ‘cycles’ being so irregular there is no way they are going to start pouring radioactive slurry into me without being totally, absolutely, utterly sure that there’s not already a little occupant in there. But the bundle that turned up contained – oh, I couldn’t bring myself to count them – lots. Fifty?
I can’t bear it. Fifty pregnancy tests? For me? And I’m going to be in a situation to use them all before they expire? Really?
Bah. Bah bloody humbug.