Heyyyy-oooooo! I've swept away the cobwebs and stomped on the spiders inhabiting this space. They will surely take up residence again when I've left this to rot for another few months. So, ignore the tumbleweeds, but don't get too excited and think that I have much of note to say.

Where have I been...yes, where have I been. I have been trying to get pregnant in the UK or employed in the US, consistently failed, had mini-breakdowns, resolved to smite my ovaries because they are bastards, cursed US higher education institutions for being close-minded (or perhaps just exhibiting good sense), adoring my magnificent daughter, resuming my MA in Art History, consequently not getting enough sleep, shunning blogging in favour of the ease and lack of commitment of Facebook, and not running enough. I think that about covers it.

Since I last blogged in January, I made some decisions. As alluded to above, I decided to give equal effort to the two things I want - a second child and a job in the US. Neither one of those options seem too keen to get things moving, but at least I am attempting to take action so that something will hopefully happen. Eventually. I bought myself one of those nifty Clearblue Easy Fertility Monitors that does all the hard work for me, because I tried the temp thing the first go round and it was all a bit much of a to-do. I barely even know what day it is or where I'm supposed to be, I'm sure as hell not put together enough to taking my temp before my eyes even open and then drafting it on a damn chart.

I'll tell you something else - I always said that I was a completely rubbish infertile, and you'll be pleased to know that is still the case. I never used OPKs before now, and I have no idea what the lines on the wee sticks even mean. No clue. I hold them up to the light every morning, trying to glean what knowledge exactly, I have no idea. I angle them against the skylight, squint, furrow my brow, draw no conclusions whatsoever, and put them in the bin. Thank god the little machine tells me my business or else I'd have no clue. The penis goes where?

I have been trying not to think about what happens after failure. I have very quickly fallen back into the mentality that pregnancy is something which happens to other people rather than me. I may have been pregnant before, but like a lot of things, the passage of time wears away memories slowly. I can barely remember that time with any accuracy, and though the evidence of my successful pregnancy is constantly smacking my ass and saying "Hey sugarbum" with a flawless Southern accent, I seem to disassociate her with the actual process of being pregnant.

Between cycles I don't much care which comes first - pregnancy or job. After a failed cycle, well, woebetide the poor Dude, who is relegated to a support position which largely involves staring blankly at me while I rage. Ah, the good old days, eh?

So yes, I'm back in this IF sphere again, begrudgingly. I might even stick around for a bit. Who am I kidding? I'll be here for years. I hope to put off the fun stuff like wandings and flashing my doctor for at least a little while, but I'll need somewhere to vent the reality. Facebook is crawling with work folk, family, and severe Christ-worshippers who would fall of their pews if they knew what I'm really like. I need this blog for that, as short of personal emails, this is still the only place where I can be me.