All those years of scrupulous contraception, the fearful frissons of "what if??..." following an unwise risk, the sea-shanty of nausea that sploshed around me on the occassion I took the morning after pill, the assumption that my perky wee ova were brazenly touting for the attention of any passing spermatazoa ~ I thought getting pregnant was as easy as falling on your back.
Turns out it's far far harder than that. Or at least it is for us: we know six couples who fell pregnant first time of trying, including two who were using contraception at the time too. And so I had an inkling that statistically we wouldn't be quite so lucky, that we'd be that 10-20% of couples with subfertility issues.
Not that we've been trying for years and years, like some couples~ but when you're the wrong side of 30 (and just a kick in the pants off 35) you don't want to hang around for too long.
So, this morning I had a nice chat with a lovely doctor, and she explained to me all the dignified and entirely unrevolting, stress-free procedures me and the husband can undergo if this month doesn't prove to be a winner in the baby stakes.
This pre-occupation with baby business has sapped my creativity rather a lot recently, hence my absence from blogdom, and the miniscule amount of novel progress. That, and the fact that my laptop is proving as dysfunctional as my ovaries. The man in the shop tells me I have something wrong with my motherboard.
Oh, the irony.....
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