Well, I’m not pregnant. No surprises there, then. My rocks deflated over the last few days and I started spotting this morning. Sigh. I have been to the supermarket and bought crisps, wine and chocolate this morning, and intend to have finished all of them by this evening.
I’ve been doing this whole pregnancy/trying to get pregnant/infertility crap for 20 months now. I just counted. That’s depressing. I know that there are many people who have been doing this for far longer, and I don’t mean to sound all “why me, this is shit” when it is less in comparison, but I am getting really, really fed up of this. It’s rubbish. And everywhere, are people that fall on erect penises (sorry, WFI, I had to steal it, I loved it so much!) and get pregnant. Humph!
I went to a barbecue this weekend, at my friend’s house. She’s a nice girl. She has a nice baby. However, she also has lots of friends with babies who all like to talk about baby-led weaning (whatever that is, and no, I don’t really want to know) and nappy contents and vomit and sleeping patterns, and they think that everyone else wants to hear about those things as well.
Mr W and I were trying to escape the many babies (and their parents, who all seemed to have had a lobotomy along with their successful reproduction, gazing goofily at darling Harper* and coming out with comments like “I didn’t know what love was until I became a mummy to my little boo boo bear.” That was a direct quote by the way.) by watching the cricket. For me to watch the cricket means I am really trying to escape something, as I hate cricket. However, even then we could not escape the women who came over, sat next to us, and started a discussion about teething.
I swear, if I do manage to have a living baby, I will never be one of those women. I will not talk about my baby’s bowel habits in public, or how many times they bit my boob that morning.
(I should add that after everyone left, nice baby went to bed and we had grown-up conversation with wine and a very strange film about giant bugs. Far more civilised.)
And to top today off perfectly some complete dimwit that I went to school with whinged on somebody’s facebook status about how she wanted a dog instead of a baby. She’s pregnant. Grrr. I spent the rest of today shaking my fist at the sky, saying “Why, God? What the bloody hell are you playing at up there? Because I just don’t understand any more.”
*Yes I did use Posh’s new daughter’s name as an example. Because it’s stupid.
Also, please can you all think of questions for me to ask the infertility doctor next week? Because I’m running out, and I’m sure you can think of some (possibly slightly more intelligent) questions. So far I have:
- Why is my lining so shit?
- Why are my periods getting lighter?
- Why does nobody seem to be doing anything about it?
- Why is my cervix painful each month?
- Why has nobody given me any hormones to try and increase the thickness of my lining?
- Why do gynaecologists blame my polycystic ovaries for my light periods when I didn’t have light periods before I got Asherman’s? And I ovulate every month?
- Will you try IUI and if so what are you going to do to try and sort out my endometrium so it isn’t a wasted effort?
- Will you do IVF and will it work?
- Will someone please monitor my lining throughout my cycle and then DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT?
- Please don’t tell me it’s hopeless. Please. I’m not ready to give up on this.