Occasionally, my fertility charting site tries to coax me into buying a more premium membership by allowing me a free taster of all those cute features it could offer if only, if only, I’d let them have a peek at my credit card. I shan’t, of course. I don’t care for baby-dust (and ignorance) infested chat-rooms and message-boards. When I ovulate I don’t wish to be told, gleefully, what day the Infant Prodigy would be due if it was due, which it isn’t, dammit. Count-downs to Test Day are irritating – what am I, twelve and need reminding remorselessly what day my period is due? I know the day. I know the very hour. I have the gin. I have the tampons. H knows to provide the chocolate.
However, the free taster has out-done itself this time. The Test! Test! Test! Bounce! Bounce! Bounce! day for this cycle is… Mothering Sunday.