Marching On

Odds and sods

There is a full moon tonight, and as usual, the animals can sense it.

Ellie is walking around crying.  She doesn't really seem to want anything but to hear the sound of her own voice.  Zach snuck upstairs to see what was up and is now following her as she goes from room to room.  He hasn't realised that I know he is up here.

I can't blame him.  Lila's response to a full moon is predictable.  She won't share her toys with Zach and she likes to try to eat his ears.  She's downstairs alone watching America's Next Top Model, and barking at Miss J Alexander.  I can't blame her - why the fuck does he call himself that?

The boy cats alternate between rampaging round my bedroom or sleeping.  There is no middle ground for them.  Holly and Willow watch disdainfully from my bed.  They don't care what the moon is doing - it is welcome to do whatever it pleases as long as it doesn't disturb them.

And there is the first crash of the evening.  Ellie has managed to get the ladder from the Boy's loftbed off.

I had my blood test yesterday.  The Baron got a little stroppy because I wouldn't let him in the cubicle with me.  I cope better alone, and I find that when he is trying to distract me, I am acutely aware that I am being distracted and will focus on why.  Alone, I just watch the needle go in unfettered.

It was quite convenient since he had his follow up appointment with the surgeon who kindly de-appendicised him.  He got the all clear and was told to bugger off and to not darken their doorway again.  Well, they didn't say THAT, but they did say he didn't need to come back again.

Bloody good thing, really.  I read today that Patientline, who provide the in hospital TV and phone service, are putting up their call charges by 160%.  The greedy fuckers, already £80million in debt, spent £160million installing these new systems (that aren't that reliable) and want to recoup their investment.  So they are targetting a vulnerable and captive audience in order to do so.  What scum bags. 

Anyway, I digress.  I should get my results back on Tuesday and we can see if my thyroid malfunctions.  My mother's does, and I fully expect mine to pack in service one of these days and retire to the Carribean.  I wouldn't really blame it.

The Boy is currently on holiday with his Dad.  I'm a bit lost without him, although the peace and quiet is nice.  At least in theory.  Zach is now crying along with Ellie.  If it wasn't so damn annoying, it would be quite harmonious.  The Boy...oh yes, he is in Cornwall.  They went to the beach today, and the Boy's new (half) brother, aged ten weeks, got to put his feet in the sand for the first time.  Apparently that gave him the giggles.

That will have to do for now.  My cursor is dancing round the screen of its own accord and is frankly pissing me off.  I'm off to drown my sorrows with a nice bottle of red.

Toodles.

Gone and done it now

I've made a doctor's appointment to discuss the distinct lack of pregnancy achievement ongoing in this house.

Shit.

Now it is real.

Fertile land

My village is extremely fertile.

Not only are the plants bursting forth from the land, and the trees blooming with the sweet scent of blossom, but the occupants are similarly blessed.

A new baby girl arrived home, being welcomed into the house behind mine.  A baby girl is due to arrive in the house next to mine.  A baby boy is expected in the house opposite mine.

The fertility boom did touch here briefly.  My garden is choking with fast growing weeds.

Fucking apt, isn't it?

Nope

Still not.

I'm getting well good at this.  But does my one line look fat from over there?

Pity party

We have been TTC for 390 fucking days.

Is it any wonder I am pissed off with everything right now? 

I went shopping today, because the Baron had eaten my emergency stash of ice cream.  Bastard.  I was served by a pregnant girl.  In front of me was a pregnant woman.  Behind me was a pregnant woman.

And outside the fucking store were two women with their newborns.

You can see why I needed that damn ice-cream.  I've clearly pissed off the universe today.

Scratch that last post

If I go to prison, it won't be for blog reading.

It will be for husbandicide.  I'm going to kill the fucker.

1.  He broke my oven.  In fairness, he was trying to clean in it, and took the wrong screws off.  So I have no shelves in the oven, which makes cooking more than one thing impossible.  It's a Bank Holiday weekend (of course) and so no-one can fix it until Tuesday at the earliest.

2.  He refuses to walk the dogs together.  Which means when he takes one, I'm left with the other.  They get distressed, cry their heart out and pee on the damn floor....which I have to clean up.

3.   He keeps asking if my mood is because I am pregnant.  How the fuck he thinks that is likely is beyond me, but I swear, if he asks me again, I will not be responsible for what happens.

Kill kill kill.

So sad

It was a lazy day last summer, when the sun was beating down and the scent of warm strawberries filled the air, that I first realised something was missing.

A very small Lila was snoozing by my feet, and I was idly watching the butterflies in my herb patch. I was completely contented and yet not. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I sat and puzzled, trying to make sense of that strange feeling. And then it hit me.

It wasn’t something that was missing. It was someone.

That was the first time that I was hit by the strength of my desire to have children. The power of that feeling shocked me. I knew I wanted to have children eventually, but until that moment, I didn’t realise just how much I wanted to.

The garden looked lovely that day, with the plants growing almost in front of my eyes. But it would look even lovelier with a little child playing in a paddling pool. A little child with curly dark hair and light eyes, laughing and splashing the dog so carefully guarding the pool.

That was a year ago. I remember thinking on that day, a year ago, that by next summer that dream would be real. Next year seemed like a lifetime away, but it felt close enough to touch. I could almost see the paddling pool. I could certainly see the dog…

The Baron and I talked about it, of course, and we did try briefly. Of course, then we decided to get married, and plans were put on hold. We decided we would start trying again after our wedding.

We’ve tried, on and off. Things kept popping up that meant we had to put it off a month here, a month there. Out of eighteen cycles, we have managed to try on eight of them.

And now the Baron has cold feet. He doesn’t want to continue trying right now. He can’t explain why. He won't explain why.

It is another summer now. The harvest is in already. The heat wave has broken and now it is cold and raining. It doesn’t feel like we’ve moved forward at all. That dream seems just as far as away as it did last summer. There will be no small child playing in our back garden this year, or next.

I think you can imagine how I feel right now.

That was fun while it lasted

The second line held steadily faint yesterday, and then buggered off altogether this morning. 

So that's a no, then.

I'm not, but everyone else is.

Truely.

I met some of my neighbours this week.  They all are.

A fellow blogger got her two lines.

A forum friend got her two lines.

Two of my friends, my cousin, and a colleague all had babies in the last six weeks.

I confess to being a little more than on the jealous side.

Ignorance is bliss

Not knowing, talking about or even thinking about things is my new coping strategy.  If I don't know, it isn't happening.

We are not talking about my cycle.  My reproductive organs are organs non grata at the moment.  Cycle day 53 my fucking arse.  Not up for discussion.

We are not talking about the fact that one of my reprobate cats has pissed on the spare bed again.

We are definitely not talking about the deranged dog.

We are not going to discuss my chronic hayfever.

Nor are we going to talk about being called into school because the Boy has been giving his classmates the finger.

In fact, screw talking.

I am going to have a very large whiskey.