Need of Alcohol and Fluffy Socks

After our due date has passed, I have to say that I don’t really feel any different. I haven’t been overtaken by a sense of peace and acceptance and smiling happiness for every baby/new mother that crosses my path. I don’t suppose I was really expecting to, but it would have been nice. At least the whole “I would be x months pregnant now… blah blah blah” has finished, because I wouldn’t be pregnant anymore. I would have a baby, but in all honesty, since I’ve never had one, I can’t imagine what that’s like. I can’t even really picture it, except for a highly unrealistic fantasy, perfect-baby version. On the other hand I knew what it was like to be pregnant, so that was far more real to me.

A good friend of mine had her baby at the weekend. She has been the most amazing source of support to me since we lost our baby, she’s just been there for all my weeping rambling (admittedly from the other side of the world) and repeating myself, and everything that everyone else got bored with. She had a miscarriage last year, has been told many times that she’d never have a baby, and managed to have one. She had a horrible pregnancy, high risk, beset by problems all the way through. I’ve lost count of how many miscarriage scares she had, and she ended up having an emergency c-section. They thought they would lose him. But he’s here. And such a gorgeous miracle. Thank goodness for that! She sent me a picture of him, and there was the obligatory heart-jumping and uterus-twanging when you see someone else’s baby, but he’s beautiful. And I thought that when we (hopefully) finally get to have one of our own, all of this shit and heartache and surgery and medication will suddenly all be worth it for that precious bundle of life.

I went to see Needle-Woman yesterday. My temperature chart still isn’t behaving. Despite the fact that I haven’t had much to drink over the past week or so, it is not doing what it’s supposed to. And she can’t blame it on the drink. The temperatures are very resolutely staying flat instead of going up in the 2nd half of my cycle. To be honest, I’m not particularly bothered. Clearly I must ovulate occasionally, or I wouldn’t have gotten pregnant, plus I’m sure it’s not that reliable anyway. Maybe it’s proof that I need alcohol to actually make my resolutely stable body temperature do something?

Anyway, I had, like a good girl, noted down when I had a headache, as requested. I had a headache last Thursday on our due date, so had noted it down. She remarked on this, so I just said that “Oh it was the due date for a baby we lost. It was a hard day.” She then took my pulse, and said “Oh, I can tell you’ve been stressed this week from your pulse.” I mean, duh! Very intuitive, but I have just told you I’ve been upset! Oh well…

She also told me off for wearing flip flops. My feet were cold, and apparently my kidney channel runs from my foot to my uterus, so the cold would transmit itself right into the Uterus of Doom. I told her I’d wear some fluffy socks with my flip flops next time, but my bum is always cold, so what should I do about that? She was speechless. I know there are some readers of this blog who say things like “you don’t actually believe in this stuff do you?” I would say that I have no idea, but it doesn’t hurt, I do have vastly more energy since I started this, and hey, I’ll try anything!

Oh and my latest herbs taste like gravy. It is an improvement on the last lot, which had black bits floating in them and tasted like old boot, but I am somewhat concerned about this. Have I had so many herbs over the last month that my tastebuds have gone awry and I actually like the taste of the herbs now?

In Other News, we still don’t have a date for coming home. Please keep your fingers crossed that it is soon.

The biggest news in Australia at the moment is that Oprah Is Coming. She is apparently going to do two shows from the steps of the opera house. I’m not sure that everyday Aussies are that excited, but those on TV seem to be practically punching each other for tickets. Interesting.

It was the finale of Farmer Wants a Wife last night. Yes I do watch terrible TV. I’m a lost cause. One of the farmers, Farmer Nathan, who seems to live about 5000km away from anywhere (that may be an exaggeration…) proposed to his chosen woman. It made me cry, even though he actually gives me the creeps. Oh dear. I must be hormonal.

It is now day 20 of this cycle. The Uterus of Doom has approximately 6 days to pull herself together before she has to put on a performance. Here’s hoping…

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