So, you know. Two week wait. My sixth ever. Yes, only my sixth ever. God, but Satsuma is a lazy little stinker, bless her.
Of course, I shall be ignoring the two week wait, as H and I will be On Holiday. In a car. Somewhere all points North of current location. And we will be ignoring pee-stickery. Yes we will. either I will get my period on Sunday week, or I shan’t, but I will still be on holiday and it will not be my problem apart from a certain manic-ness about avoiding alcohol and coffee which will of course suck flaming green donkey backside as I will be on holiday, ferChrissakes. I need a drink at the very thought.
But I will be taking the pre-natal vitamins. I have been taking the stupid things on and off for bloody buggering ever. The latest box really ground away at my nerves. It had a picture of a smiling slender lady proudly showing off a dainty naked bump. Ewwwwwww. The first thing I did on getting out of hospital back in June was to chuck the box to the back of a dark cupboard and pray for cockroaches. I recovered my equanimity sufficiently to fish the astonishingly smug object out again before taking the provera and starting this cycle properly (oh, don’t panic, I was taking vitamins with lots of lovely Folic acid in before then too. Just not pre-natal ones). At last, at last, I am about to take the last tablet, and can rip the box into teeny tiny shreds and stuff them into the recycling. So today I went into the Fancy Organic Shop to buy more prenatal vitamins, and to make damn sure this box didn’t have a smirking nincompoop fondling herself all over it.
I got very expensive ones.
I sort of wish I hadn’t.
And I know very well I couldn’t possibly do otherwise.
If I do get *ahem*, anyway, that, this cycle, which I shan’t, because really, I will feel justified in getting the Expensive Pills. Only the best for my spawn.
But if, no, when, I don’t, and I shall have been leaving a trail of seriously over-priced widdle all over the British Isles, and for what? For the benefit of the manufacturers, that’s for what, arse feck etc., where was I? Oh yes. I take expensive vitamins. My uterus sneers thereat. I menstruate on cue. I look sadly into my wallet. I decide the minimalist packaging is just as smug and annoying as Cheap’n’Cheerful version.
But then, what if? What if not? Bitter McTwisted and the Positive Thinking Fairy have set up camp in my fore-brain and are flicking pop-corn at each other.
And I really had no idea how extra extra paranoid I’d become having lost one. Dear God, this sucks.
After this cycle, we visit the ACU again, to see the specialist. We will probably be given three more goes of Clomid and be sent off again. We will take our three more goes. And then it will be yet another childless Christmas, and whatever shall I do to survive that?