I'm SO glad it's the weekend.

Similes, by an 8-year old girl.

Happy Easter!

I was going to write a longish post about my thoughts on Easter, but right now I'm feeling too lazy. I dug out an old post I wrote about it which seems slightly twee now but still expresses roughly how I feel four years on, so here it is if you're interested.

Unfortunately...

... I'm falling to the Communists. Double whammy with a violent sicky bug and stomach pains.

This month was my last chance to become a Mum before the age of 35.

Excuse me I have a little mourning to do.

Hopefully we'll try again in May after a month's rest.

What a load of old radish.

Easter holiday 'to do' list: get hair cut like this again.

And now for something completely different.

This is Badger. He's a hot water bottle cover. My sister bought him for me for my 13th birthday. He has a velvet nose. His dressing gown is starting to wear a bit thin and he has one eye missing.

Poo.

Adriano had another motorbike accident on Wednesday. A lorry turned right across his path. He braked sharply to avoid being hit and flew off his bike. Amazingly (and thankfully) he didn't break anything but you should see the size of his right foot. The bruising is very impressive. He's on crutches, and is doing his best to dodge the flying hormones of his PMT-ridden girl.

Hmm, PMT. Doesn't bode well, does it.

Westminster Abbey and follicular success. Look away, boys.

Last Wednesday the scan went well: 3 follicles appeared on the screen, at least 2 of them already large enough to get going on the treatment straight away. Interestingly (to me), endometriosis and a tilted uterus were also spotted from the ultrasound. Next stop blood test, followed by an HCG injection carefully timed at 11pm the same evening, with instructions to hasten home and make love immediately afterwards in case the egg(s) had already released. Fast forward 36 hours or so, and Adriano and I are to be found in the treatment room, holding hands tightly while the actual IUI, our best hope yet, takes place. Disappointingly the room was not bathed in candlelight, and supplied with oysters and champagne and the like. But baby-beggars can't be choosers.

Apart from another blood test (for progesterone level) on Friday, there is nothing to do now but wait. It is highly likely that the infamous Two Week Wait will be rudely interrupted by the arrival of Aunt Flo, but there's also a chance that the treatment had the desired effect. A chance between 6% and 26%, depending on whose statistics you read.

Rest assured, being inseminated was not the only highlight of the last few days.

I attended a 2 hour yoga workshop on Saturday with Adriano. We're now both suffering from too much downward-facing-dog. It's worrying when even yoga makes you feel unfit. When we got home I went straight to bed for an hour and a half, but don't tell anyone.

That evening I met with cheerful one to watch/listen to petemaskreplica and his merry band play in a superb concert. I took the Westminster Abbey photo on the way there.

Adriano and I declared yesterday to be Treat Day. We bussed it to Kingston and indulged our shrivelled materialistic hearts. And stomachs. What a shame the weekend had to end.

Eyebrow curiosity

TMI about rampant hormones, with a bit of blossom thrown in for good measure.

For the past 5 days I've had 100mg Clomid. On Wednesday I will have my first scan to see how the follicles are growing. The stastistics for first time IUI pregnancy are not good, and even of those that lead to pregnancy, many don't make it beyond the first trimester. That's the kind of information it's dangerous to ignore, in case we get our hopes up too much, but then how to stay positive? It's a horrible rollercoaster. Part of me thinks that even IUI is a step too far for me. But on the otherhand I'm willing to accept a miracle of up to 3 healthy babies in one go! Please. Please.

I've been crying at the most pathetic things for the past few days, so much so that Adriano can't help laughing now at the tiny things that set me off. I'm laughing with him; it's weird to watch my emotions transform and to know that this time it's probably drug-induced. What are we doing to me here?

I have survived Mothers' Day weekend with no tears visible to my mum or my future mother-in-law or my future sister-in-law (first time mum this Mothers' Day), all of whom I saw. I had hoped that this year I would be among them but it wasn't to be. Maybe next year.

In other news, I'm now half way through my job's 12-month contract, and practically counting the days. It's tough and I'm worn out with it. I don't have energy for it. I try hard to renew my enthusiasm every week but in honesty it's all about survival and that's it. No fancy extras from me I'm afraid, kids.

Adriano has gone back to work after a stupid few weeks where his company hummed and hawed about his returning contract and his future payout. Now we know for sure that he will finish his contract the same day as me. He has survived the first week back with his dignity and integrity intact.

I was called at 6.45am one day last week (it's OK I was up) with the fab news from my Antipodean friend Kirsty, that she has got her PhD! I'm well impressed, and can't wait to read her thesis. Wow.