One step beyond

While the mother is away, the blogger will play. How old am I anyway--sneaking to the computer while my mom isn't around like a shifty little teenager. I hope my mom doesn't find out I've been talking to infertiles. I'll be grounded for weeks!

I'd like to thank The Academy everyone that has left comments wonderful things you said. As I've mentioned many times before, it's so great to be able to commiserate with people that actually know what you're going through. Having started this blog, as well as reading so many of the fab blogs out there I cannot imagine not having this outlet. I'd be way more emotionally unstable than I already am, if that can be believed.

Bring on the IVF. In the past week or so I've come to terms with this and so it is. The finality of it is something which I don't know if I will overcome, but I'm not so scared of it anymore. What I'm about to say sounds so annoyingly suzy sunshine, but in a way, all of these failed attempts have strengthened me for IVF. Yeah, so there are more cooter pokings, more pain, more frustration to come, but hey...I'm used to it all now. I think you quickly reach a point where the prospect of all these horrible things is just numbing.

I will look back on this post once IVF starts and wonder what the fuck I was waxing optimistic about. Don't worry fair readers, I will soon be pulling my hair out, scratching at my eyes, and screaming at passers-by again. It's only a matter of time.

Meanwhile, to keep us all entertained, let us regale ourselves with funny google searches which have led weary sojourners here. Though I don't get really odd searches like "panty-sniffing badgers" and the like, my mild ones do entertain me.

1. Yeah, so I'm bitter. I'm impressed that I was ranked 5th in this search. See, it does pay to be a grouchy crone, you can be in fifth place in something! By the way, who does a search for this, and what were they hoping to find?
2. Oh, the irony does not elude me. I was only 10th here. I never thought that someone could type in "homemaker" and end up being lead to me. That is the stuff of nightmares.
3. I had two really good ones, but unfortunately my counter has now deleted them. Let's just say that the public's fascination with Candace Cameron Bure in various states of undress is a bit disconcerting. Between nipple slip searches and those seeking a complete muff-baring, I'm beginning to regret incorporating her into one of my posts. She's a god-fearing, married mother of three now people, get yourselves together. She won't be whipping out her business anytime in the near future. Well, keep hope alive I guess...

End of an era

My period has arrived. Thus ends the IUI stage of infertility, the dawn of IVF is nigh. I'm 26 years old, I don't drink, smoke, drink caffeine, or eat foods that are high in fat or sugar, I take supplements that are to aid fertility, and for what? Absolutely fuck all.

A few hours ago I planned on being insightful and witty in this post, but reality has come crashing down on me. There is nothing past this next step. Surely I haven't been treated for infertility long enough to now be at the last step?

Tonight, once I first discovered that IUIs are in fact a complete and utter waste of time, I dealt with it quite well. I calmly told The Dude that this wasn't the month and casually started chatting about our next consultation when we'll discuss IVF. I felt rational for a time, which is unusual for me. What has pushed me over the edge is The Dude's visible disappointment. Understandable, but it has left me completely guilt ridden. I feel like not only do I have to deal with my own feelings on all of this, but I have to cope with the fact that he has been let down by me again. I'm the cause of his sadness, but there is nothing I can do to fix it. It's a horrible feeling that I would not dare wish on anyone.

Now I'm fuming about people that get pregnant easily, and wondering how the fuck this can be so hard.

I'm sorry if I sound terribly self-pitying and oh-woe-is-me. I know lately has not been the best of times for a lot of bloggers, so as someone that has yet to venture onto the physical and emotional rollercoaster that is IVF I feel a bit overly dramatic.

What a way to start the Easter holiday.

Because I'm a whore

My stats have plummeted in the last week, and I'm desperately hoping it is because I said I wouldn't be posting much while my mom is here. Some might wonder why I'm so bothered, but may I now take the time to tell you all I have no real life friends. None. In true 21st century loser fashion my friends are all thousands of miles away, reachable only by instant messenger and email. Add to this lame fact that I share my infertility with no one and an obsessive, stat checking comment whore is born. I apologise if my odd twitching, rather unnerving stare and massive dopey smile scares anyone off.

In case anyone is wondering how I managed to post twice in the first week of my Mom's visit, it's because I'm a crafty, scheming minx of an infertile. That, or she wasn't in the flat at the time. At the moment Mom is on a lovely two day jaunt to places north of here, so here I am. She has managed to avoid any mention of my infertility being cured by prayer circles or a good chiropractor, but I'm sure it is forthcoming. Yesterday she asked me what the next course of action is assuming IUI #3 didn't work (ha! Poor, darling, naive little mother...it's an IUI. Of course it won't fucking work!). When I said IVF, she just looked stunned. Yeah, it snuck up on me too. The Dude was plotting a little uterine blackmail:

Him: Fruitbat (his affectionate name for my mom), Pru and I would like to provide you with your first grandchild, but unfortunately our desire for material goods such as a plasma television precludes us from coming up with the neccessary cash for IVF. Gee, it sure would be a shame if you had to wait years for your lazy, somewhat mildly retarded younger son to reproduce and bring his demon spawn into an unsuspecting world.

The Dude was very keen on this idea until he realised that a) Fruitbat would probably offer some money, and as such would b) consider herself justified to be the child's religious guru, which is The Dude's biggest nightmare. I can see it now, "Mommy, Grandma Fruitbat said that I would have been born a lot sooner had you agreed to be part of her prayer circle."...

For sale

One husband, and one mother. Husband is a '72 model, in good physical shape, but is a bit temperamental. Mother is young-looking and acting, pierced nose. Will need to be supplied with numerous medications in order to function properly. £2.50 for the two of them. This deal will not last, but at the moment they are too much for me to handle simultaneously.

Selling inflexible husband that makes you monkey in the middle: £1.25

Auctioning off mother that is oblivious to her impositions: £1.25

Keeping infertile woman's sanity intact so her head doesn't explode: Priceless

Blogger, you go to hell. You go to hell and you die!

Because I'm a total lemming, now is my chance to ponder moving my blog elsewhere. I subsist on comments left on my blog, so with Blogger recently TOTALLY SUCKING and not letting people leave comments, I'm getting more annoyed than an infertile locked in a tiny room with 20 pramfaces*. Should I stay or should I go now? If I go there will be trouble, and if I stay there will be double.

Speaking of trouble, the maternal unit arrives tomorrow. As of yet the walls have not started weeping blood and there is not a gathering of wolves baying at the moon beneath my window, but there is still time for these things. I am going to have to hide all my blog-related links, and I don't know how much available time I'll have for posting since the computer is in the spare bedroom where she will be staying. Who am I kidding? I'm addicted to blogging, both reading and composing...I'll kick the old bat out of the room for awhile. I really do love my mom...honestly. She's bringing me presents, how can I not?

*pramface: A brilliant description coined by Popbitch referring to rough looking teenage girls that can be seen pushing any/all of their children round the council estate. The chances of a pramface sporting a Croydon facelift are astronomically high.