Your point being?

So. Gynaecological Consultant Lady In Charge of ACU gently nagged me about my weight the last time we saw her. (About a month ago, for those who do not play the linky-click chase chase game). Whereapon I started exercising again. Admittedly with a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle, but a brisk walk is not dependent on the Mad Smiley like ice-dancing is.Thank God.

And I ovulated. Spontaneously, no drugs. I made me mine! Two weeks later than ‘normal’, but hey, we have totally established that there is no normal at Casa May. Except for the weekly laundry crisis when every single shirt I own seems to be either a) filthy, b) damp or c) mysteriously invisible. That’s apparantly very normal.

Over the summer, not exercising at all and living on a diet of latte, white bread, and pecan pie slices, I did not ovulate. For the first year after I came off the pill, eating even quite sensibly but very much not exercising regularly (I’d manage it for, oh, three days in a row, burst with pride, and spend two weeks recovering in a prone position), I DID NOT OVULATE FOR THE ENTIRE YEAR NOT ONCE. I grew polyps instead and became the central feature of a perfomance art piece entitled: ‘Dracula’s Mirror Image: Permanent Bleeding As Life-Style Choice.’ Only, I forgot to wear white all the time. Though there was the war paint episode.

When I came off the pill for the second time last Autumn, I ovulated. Late, and pathetically, but I ovulated. More than once. Without clomid. And I was exercising then. And I lost weight right up until That Whole Sorry Business That Spoilt My Birthday, Possibly Forever, Fuckit.

So. Exercise is good for me and helps regulate my hormones and bully Satsuma into stunned compliance. Exactly as all those sodding annoying medical professionals promised.

Damn damn damn damn damn.


9 responses to “Your point being?

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    I hate it when they’re right. Bastards.
    Lattes, lovely bread and pie… (pause to shake head and wipe away dribble) get thee behind me Satan!

    Naughty timing, but Good Girl Satsuma. Thinking big burrowy implantation thoughts at Maison Hairy.

    OMG you have LAUNDRY CRISISES (Crises?!) TOO! Mysteriously invisible laundry is obviously becoming a pandemic. It’s bed linen I struggle with currently. My habit of emptying clean laundry into a heap in the middle of the bedroom floor because I don’t have time to put it away is, admittedly, probably resulting in the sheets and pillow cases migrating under beds and chairs and behind skirting boards, and basically HIDING FROM ME when I am desperately trying to replace the sicky/bloodstained ones on our bed in the wee small hours. I keep on picking up the same cot-sheet from the heap and throwing it down in disgust, while Hubby stands slumpily by the bed, muttering, waiting for fresh sheets so he can climb back in. My nemesis however, is his all-similar-but-not-quite-identical black sock collection. Attempting to pair them has contributed to a gradual loosening of my grip on the sanity stick in the past, so now I just stuff them in handfuls into his drawer. Then curse him roundly at dawn when he stands there for ages, trying to sort out his clothes from the towering heap in the dark. Joy.

  • Geohde

    Oh my I so feel your pain on the exercise.

    I was gleefully told that Pregnancy Was Going To CUre Me And I Better Take The Pill Or Else.

    Ha. Over three months and I’m simply still giving away perfectly good haemaglobin at unpredictable intervals.

    And now that I think about it, the only times I’ve ovulated spontaneously I’ve been nettle-licking (so to speak) myself.



  • Geohde

    Oh, and for me it’s socks….

    Always socks….

    ALthought he last time I moved house, I found precisely HALF of half a dozen pairs, neatly solving the small mystery of where they go. Under the washing machine is apparently the correct answer.


  • Geohde

    And, abusing your comments section- to my shame I found about five pairs of knickers, too. That I DIDN’T miss in the slightest.

    You can spin your own theories on that one 🙂


  • Katie

    The usual way I make myself do exercise is if it gets me somewhere (see: biking to work), if it gets me cool (see: currently 31C which meant swimming in the slow lane at lunchtime), or if I get to lie down for 10 minutes at the end (see: yoga).

    Except, bizarrely, I seem to have decided to like running (see: not much faster than walking, passed by elderly dogs and small children). I think it is the ipod, it brainwashes me.

    (Laundry. Pah. Current furnished let landlady thinks that 2 sets of sheets, 2 PAIRS of pillowcases, and 1 single sheet – just the one, no top sheet – is enough for 2 people for 8 months. Mr Spouse, erm, is very nice in many ways but a bit laundry challenged and managed to use a tablecloth for my dad’s top sheet. Good thing my dad is useless too).

  • Jane G

    Yay for Satsuma, you go girl! Totally feel your pain as regards exersize. Myself and himself went back to the gym this week after making donations but not turning up for several months. I was formulating a post about it in my head when I read this.

    As for laundry, my airing cupboard is fast becoming the Black Hole of Tipperary!

  • korechronicles

    I will never be able to look at a bulldog or a nettle again without dissolving into helpless laughter. I am wrong person to comment as I have been regularly exercising at 6 in the morning for so bloody long that I actually like it. I just hate the getting up so early with a passion. And all this activity has had what effect exactly? None whatsoever on my weight sadly. It’s just given me an appetite.

    Laundry non-organisation reigns Supreme at Villa Kore as well. I have given up futile attempts to regain control. The black socks are winning. And laughing at me into the bargain.

    Hey…Satsuma came through! She’s an infuriating tart, that one.

  • Xbox4NappyRash

    In a similar way, I’m determined to never relax, for fear of getting her up the duff and all the ‘just relax’-ers being right…

  • womb for improvement

    As Jane G noted, that’s three of us grasping the exercise nettle this week.

    By way of encouragement I reckon we have to promise to blog if when we sink back into the sofa. That way we will be too ashamed to stop as we will have not only failed ourselves and our ovaries, but – and this is the real guilt trip – also our readers. *little choke in the voice there*

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