A few of my friends got a hole in one with their babies – they conceived first go, or within a small handful of months.

It’s a weird thought, in terms of elapsed time the changes that have happened in their lives compared to ours.

For us, after nearly four years we’re still waiting.

I was thinking about their kid’s third birthday party.

In other circumstances that might have been us, around now. Our kid’s third birthday party. Jelly, balloons, the young ‘un old enough to be excited about it. We’d have done pregnancy, and birth, and sleepless night, and first steps, and first words, and by this point they’d be into everything and making a real terror of themselves. But we haven’t been able to do any of that.

It is a bloody long time four years. And it seems even longer if I compare it to some other things that I have done, that felt like significant and lengthy periods of my life.

– I was at Junior School for four years.
– It was four years between starting my GCSEs and finishing my A-Levels.
– I was at university for four years taking my undergraduate degree.
– I worked in London for two years. I could have done that twice during this time.
– My second and third professional roles lasted four years in total.
– I also took a top-up degree in a year. I could have done four of those during this time.

It is a long hard slog this infertility crap.

It gets to me some days. And you know I said the 2ww was OK. Well it still is, sort of in the big scheme of things, but it is certainly front of mind now.

I cried today. Something happened at work that would usually be no problem but it pushed my buttons. Luckily I didn’t cry in front of anyone, but I felt pathetic. The husband saw it as being a hopeful sign. This response being so out of character, he saw Puffling’s hand in it.

I didn’t even go to work this morning, I felt antsy. Instead I went a nice healthful walk to the supermarket. I’m lucky as a self employed person that I can do that.

I can’t quite get my head round how I feel. It isn’t stress, or worry, or sadness. I’m quite satisfied that the IVF process is done and is in the hands of fate now. But the thing I keep coming back to is that when I find out if I’m pregnant, the result will either be entirely life changing or not at all life changing. Obviously I want to be pregnant, I want it to be life changing. I know this is the case for just about anyone who finds out if they are pregnant, but I feel that I have a lot more to lose with keeping my life as it currently is. Because how it currently is isn’t great due to the endurance test that is infertility, and there is nothing I can do about that. Unlike most people I can’t just jump back on the horse here and just have another go. I have to wait until the clinic can fit me in and then spend another 60 days on another IVF procedure. It’ll be Christmas by then. And it might not work. Again. Repeat ad infinitum. I will be able to get my head round all this if necessary. Or… it might not be necessary and I’ll be on to scans and nausea and baby names and being scared of giving birth.

What screws with my head is it just seems like such opposite possibilities that will spin out of the pregnancy test result.

I know this isn’t my first time, but it does feel different. First time I was hopeful that IVF was a very temporary part of my life. Already it isn’t, and the lack of immediate success makes you realise it could go on much much longer. Or it could be successfully complete by next week.


Gah. Nearly there.